The Eyes Never Lie
by Liso66
Summary: The King of Ferelden meets Alvy Hawke. She has her eyes, Solona Amell. The mage who sacrificed all for her love, her country and mankind. Part of his heart had gone missing with her death. Was she a ghost come back to haunt him, or was it meant to be?
1. Chapter 1

**AN**/ This will be a story only a few chapters in length. This chapter being the pre-meeting of King Alistair. Although some of the time is set during the main campaign of DA2 nearing the end of act three, there will be a lot of AU as the tale is told. I hope you enjoy.

Thank you, Erynnar and Piceron, both ladies being outstanding authors. Have given me the gift of their uber beta skills.

~O~

A swaggering hip bumped up against Alvy Hawke's less curvy one. "Woo-hoo, our little lady Hawke has been summoned by the king of Ferelden!" Isabela said, grinning like a fat cat plumped with cream. "He is scrumptiously handsome, if I do say so myself. And he is very generous."

"Oh, does he give gifts?" Merrill chirped.

Isabela's eyebrows waggled suggestively. "I'll say, sweet thing. Multiple times, over and over."

"Isabela!" Alvy said, in her best scolding tone.

"Spoil-sport," she said, then stuck her tongue out at Alvy. "Never you mind, sweet thing. We can discuss this when mom isn't listening."

The little elf looked between the two women. "I missed something dirty again, haven't I?" She asked, with alight curiosity.

Alvy sighed, patting the perky elf on the shoulder. "You've missed nothing of value, Merrill."

Before sending her companions on their way, Alvy handed Merrill a rolled piece of parchment and asked her to deliver it to Varric.

Isabela huffed indignantly saying, "I live at the Hanged Man, why send Merrill?

Alvy grinned coyly, "Because you're nosy, Isabela."

Merrill looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turning to the pirate, "That is true Isabela, Just yesterday you were..."

Merrill let out a squeak when she was abruptly cut off as Isabela grabbed her hand to make their way back to Lowtown. "We'll be sure Varric gets this, sweetness!" she promised, as she quickened her steps; dragging the little elf with her.

~O~

Alvy casually strolled through the Hightown market on her way to her estate. She stopped at a few of the stalls, browsing for any new wares that may have come in. Nothing remarkable caught her eye, though, she liked keeping in touch with the merchants. Her winning smile and charm earned her discounts on occasion.

Worthy, one of the dwaven merchants, would often give her special supplies for Sandal, hoping he could learn some trade secrets from the lad. The thing was, no one really understood Sandal's enchantments. The boy was an enchanting savant.

She received a few painted smiles and bloated greetings from nobles now in constant pursuit of her favor. These were the very same nobles that once called her a Fereldan dog. '_It's funny how fortune can change one's perspective_,' she mused.

As she entered her estate, she could hear Sandal playing with Lord Trevor, her faithful aging mabari hound.

Alvy reached down to scratch Lord Trevor's giant head. "Who's a good boy! Are you and Sandal having fun?" She grinned at her faithful friend. She was gifted with a happy bark and a stubby tail wagging in approval.

Smiling at Sandal, Alvy asked, "Would you like to know how Lord Trevor and I met?"

Sandal began jumping up and down, clapping his hands in excitement. "Puppy!" he chanted.

"Well, I was but a skinny thirteen year old girl, when..."

Lord Trevor imprinted on her purely by accident. Alvy found the little scamp wobbling in the brush alongside a dirt path. Immediately, the pup began licking her face and snuggled into her arms. She knew it had to be from a noble family. Mabari pups were highly valuable, and never meant for poor families, especially one as poor as hers.

"We must find your family, little lord." Alvy cooed, and cuddled him once more before she began her search for the pup's family.

As Alvy continued up the path towards town, she approached a noble family traveling just outside of West Hills. The wagon had stopped on the path, and two servants were scanning the wild brush for the pup.

Alvy called out, "If you please, m'lord, I believe this pup may be yours?"

A small child jumped from the wagon seat and ran towards her, the girl's curly golden locks were bouncing with her gait. Alvy couldn't help but smile at the bright eyed child. The girl's father was not far behind.

The nobleman looked at her skeptically while pulling his young daughter back into a single restraining arm. "I see you have brought the wayward beast back to us." The man pointed in the direction of the wagon, "We were transporting the mabari pups from our barn, to the kennel master. The runt must have fallen off the wagon."

"As you say, m'lord. I've only come to return him to his master."

Alvy held out the pup for the man, and all chaos broke loose. The little mabari began to yawl and climb back up Alvy's arm. He dug his puppy sharp claws into the sleeve of her tunic; latching his sharp puppy teeth into the woolen cloth.

She watched several things happen at once. The child started to cry, the father's face reddened, and the little mabari settled back into Alvy's arms, growling at his master.

"Little lord," she soothed, petting his blocky little head. "You must go with your master."

The pup growled even more, and then turning his face into Alvy's neck, nipping her with his tiny puppy teeth.

The nobleman seemed to have calmed slightly. His daughter's tears were causing more of a frustration than the situation itself.

"Be calm my little love, the young lady will not hurt the pup," her father said soothingly.

The man turned his gaze on Alvy, as if he were measuring her worth. "You realize what you have done?"

Alvy gulped audibly. "Done m'lord? Trust that my intentions were to bring the pup to his master."

"Yes, yes, and in doing so, the beast has imprinted on you." His words made no sense to her and the man rolled his eyes at her lack of understanding. He went on to explain imprinting to her, and how a mabari can end up picking their master, not the other way around.

In the end, the nobleman begrudgingly sent off a prized mabari pup, and Alvy had a new furry friend. Her mother would not be pleased.

She smiled as she finished her tale. Sandal seemed enraptured by the story. Either that or he was considering his next enchantment.

"So you see Sandal, Lord Trevor and I were meant to be."

"Puppy!" he chanted again, clapping excitedly. Alvy laughed, ruffling the young dwarf's hair affectionately.

Lord Trevor barked happily while running circles around Alvy's legs. An idea popped into her head. "Lord Trevor, would you like to meet the king of Ferelden?"

Another happy bark and Lord Trevor sat in a perfect pose, as if to show her he could be in royal company. She could not stop her bubbling giggles at her dog's preening.

"Such the noble beast." She teased, earning the mabari another scratch behind the ears.

"Just so, my lady," Bodahn agreed. "Master Trevor will need a bath before meeting his royal majesty."

And with that, Lord Trevor ran up the stairs and hid under Alvy's bed. Regardless of his efforts, Bodahn managed to entice the dog, using his weaknesses against him with leftover pork bits. A bath was imminent.

~O~

Carver stood in the archway of his ancestral home. In the years his sister had been living here, he had never passed the threshold of the estate. Even when his mother, _Maker rest her soul_, lived here, she had met him in town on his rare visits away from the Grey Wardens.

He had not seen his sister since their encounter in the Deep Roads with a senior Grey Warden, Nathaniel Howe.

Coming to this estate brought up memories of a life not meant for him. He never truly wanted it, and if not for his mother, he never would have followed his sister into the pits of the void to achieve it. It all worked out though. He was now an esteemed Grey Warden, and his prowess was never in question. The shadow he believed he lived under was a mere side effect of his own pride and stubbornness. Secretly, he wished he was the big brother. It was not easy following his sister around.

As he raised his hand to use the bronze knocker, he hesitated. Should he knock? Should he just walk in? This was ridiculous! He like felt such a stranger to his sister, he was flustered about using a door knocker or not.

To ensure not to commit any faux pas, he chose to knock. Bodahn answered the door quickly and did a double take.

"My lord, Ser Hawke." Bodahn seemed flustered.

"I am neither a lord nor a ser, Bodahn. I am a Grey Warden. Please call me by my given name, or simply, Warden."

"Yes, yes of course Se… Messere Hawke. Do come in!" Bodahn widened the door and stepped back for Carver to enter.

Carver groaned. "Close enough, I suppose."

Looking around the estate, Carver felt the decor had very little to do with Alvy, and more the hand of their departed mother. Though, he knew his sister had a finger in the sparseness with the furnishings. She never could tolerate the feeling of clutter around her. The further he walked into the main room, the more eerie the feeling became. This was all so foreign to him due to his own pride. More than once, he had the opportunity to come see Alvy, and the home she made for their mother, though, he wasted every opportunity he had to do so.

Before the gloom could settle in, he was slammed to the floor; a heavy weight like a grown man pressing down upon his chest and slobber dripping onto his face.

"Ugh! Mutt, get off of me!" His scolding held no real anger. He was unable to keep from laughing while being assaulted by doggy drool. "Where is your mistress, you overgrown beast?"

Bodahn let out a courteous cough. "My lady would be readying herself to meet the king of Ferelden."

"The king of bloody what?" he asked incredulously. Carver wrestled the dog off of his chest and sat up. "My sister is to meet King Alistair Theirin?

Just as he was about start questioning Bodahn further, a voice from atop the stairs floated down. "Hello brother." His sister started her descent as he pulled himself off of the floor to greet her.

He watched her as she approached. She looked older, not in a way of aging, however, filled with experience. Her eyes, those strange eyes that matched no one else in their family, were much more serious now; yet, still yielding her mischievous humor in them.

"Sister, it's good to see you."

Alvy stopped at the last step, keeping her expression neutral. "Is it?" She asked carefully.

He held both hands up in surrender. "I deserve that, and your caution," Carver said with a wry grin. "I've been a big oaf and I am man enough to admit that now."

He watched her gaze thoughtfully at him, through him, until he began to step from foot to foot, nervously fidgeting. Before he could react, Alvy jumped from the last step into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

All of a sudden, his ear popped from the loud smacking of her lips on his cheek. She knew that it annoyed him greatly and he pushed her away in mock anger.

"Git."

"Prig."

They both laughed.

Carver sobered after their greeting, "Is there somewhere we can talk?" he asked, carrying a more serious tone.

She sighed, "I have to meet King Alistair at 2 bells." She looked as if considering something. "Why not come with me! Then we can have dinner after and we'll have our talk?"

"Me, meet the king? Well, that would be something, wouldn't it?" The idea of meeting one of the Heroes of the Blight, and King to boot! "Alright, I'm in!"

"Varric and Lord Trevor will be joining us to meet the king."

He smirked. "Lord Trevor to meet the king?" He shrugged. "He is Fereldan after all, why not!"

~O~

"-And the ogre came in charging right at us when Hawke…" Varric paused, after hearing a familiar voice trilling through the tavern.

"Varric, stop her! Hawke will be so cross with me and never trust me again!"

He shook his head, "Over here Daisy." He called out to her.

"Help, Varric!" That was all it took, and he hefted Bianca over his shoulder and bolted out of his suite, breaking through his audience and into the main room of the Hanged Man. What he saw, he could not have made up in his own stories. There they were, Daisy and Rivaini, rolling on the floor while the Rivaini was torturing the little elf with methods of severe tickling. If this were a dream, or one of his stories, they'd be… Well, never mind that.

What came next was even more shocking. Daisy whispered something, and Rivaini was covered in vines and flowers!

"Hey! That's not fair, you magicked me!" Isabela protested the breaking of imaginary rules.

He stroked Bianca excitedly, "Well, shit me a lullaby. These two are giving me fodder for my next chapter." telling his crossbow.

Knocking a bolt into Bianca, he aimed for a full tankard of ale. With exact precision, he fired, the ale sprayed all over the two women. He stepped towards them as they both stilled on the floor. "I cannot make this nug dung up, thank you ladies!" He said, and sniggered at the ale soaked beauties.

Shifting Bianca onto his back, He rolled Isabela over and pulled a dagger from its sheath, handing it over to Daisy. "Get busy Daisy, and cut her out of that mess."

Varric watched as Merrill pulled an ale soaked piece of parchment from her stocking. He raised a single brow questioningly, and she handed it over without explanation. He watched, note in hand, while she tentatively started to cut Isabela out of the vines.

_Varric_

_Meeting the King of Ferelden. I know you want to be there. See you at my estate in one and a half bells._

_Hawke._

"Eloquent as ever, Hawke." He muttered.

Looking down at the gardening Daisy was managing on his favorite pirate, "Rivaini, I want you quiet. Daisy, why were you two rolling around on the floor? Not that I minded, but next time, let me give you some pointers on the fine art of female wrestling."

"Why would you watch females wrestling?" Merrill asked seriously.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "Never mind, Daisy. It's not important." to her, he thought to himself.

He chose to start over. "Daisy, why were you two rolling around on the floor?"

"Oh that. Isabela is nosy." she explained, and didn't elaborate beyond that.

"Makes sense." No it didn't; but he let it go.

"You two have fun. I have to see a Hawke about a king." he said with a flourish, and made his way back to his suite. Bianca needed a shining-up if she was going to meet royalty.

~O~

Bodahn stood next to the service table wringing his hands together. He became distressed when he realized his mistress planned on wearing her blood stained magi armor to greet King Alistair. Although he knew the lad prior to being crowned Ferelden's king, and known him to be a Grey Warden before all this royal business came to pass; he felt she needed proper attire.

"My lady." He said, getting her attention.

"What is it Bodahn?" Her sparkling eyes now focused on him. "You look positively out of sorts."

He felt a droplet of sweat trickle down his forehead, "Just so, mistress." was all he managed.

"I won't let her bite you, Bodahn, Say your peace." Young messere Carver encouraged.

His mistress slapped her brother teasingly. "Pay him no mind, Bodahn. You are always welcome to speak freely. This is your home as well.

"Yes, well…" He paused, slowly waving his hand in the air, the length of his mistress's armor. "It's just that, your attire has blood stains, and…"

He was cut off by messere Carver's bellowing laughter. "He thinks you will offend his majesty with your armor of death."

The mistress snorted in most unladylike fashion. "He obviously knows I do not hold high-tea or do cross-stitch in my spare time."

Bodahn listened to the banter between the siblings, fearing nothing would be resolved. He called over to his son. "Sandal, you can bring it over now."

Both siblings were now looking at Sandal, and waiting for an explanation.

The boy brought over a pine box, smooth and shined, from a thorough sanding and coats of varnish. He sat the box in front of Alvy and with a nod from his father; he stepped back as if waiting for something magical to happen.

"What is this Bodahn?" His mistress asked curiously.

"Well you see the boy has been working very hard on this. Ever since the king sent that missive, requesting an audience with the Champion." He explained and beamed at his son

"This is for me?" She queried.

His son's excitement was infectious. He began his ritual clapping and yelled, "Enchantment!"

"Open it Alvy." Her brother said, nudging her towards the box.

Bodahn watched as his mistress lifted the clasp on the lid and opened the gift. Her eyes grew wide and he was unsure if that was thrill or shock. Maybe even both?

She reached in slowly, running her fingertips over the doe leather. In the box where a butter soft pair of leggings, a linen blouse, matching hooded leather coat, and boots to top off the ensemble. All the leather pieces were dyed in the blackest of blacks and the linen blouse was a deep rich burgundy.

She could feel magic pouring off of the set and looked directly at Sandal, asking, "You enchanted them?"

"Enchantment!" He spoke with pure pride.

He watched as his mistress slowly sat on the floor, pulling the box down with her. She pulled each piece out with admiration.

Looking back up at both himself, and then to Sandal, "You made this for me?"

"It's all the boy's doing, my lady. I only sparked the idea in his mind." He said, deferring the accolades towards his son.

In a flash, he was pulled in, as one arm snaked around his neck, and the other around his son, bringing them into her embrace. His Mistress squeezed the embarrassing blush right out of him! She kissed them each on the cheek, which sent Sandal running out of the room, and into hiding.

"I will be the best dressed mage in the Free Marches!" With that, she ran up to her bed chambers to dress for her meeting with the king.

"I do so enjoy the twinkle in her ladyship's eyes! We've not seen near enough of that as of late." Bodahn said to Carver, sighing with relief that all went well.


	2. The Rumor Well

**Chapter Two. The Rumor-Well.**

Alvy stood in front of the wall length mirror, donned in her new magi leathers. Sandal was truly genius. The cut was perfect, as if she stood suffering a tailor's punishment, taking her measurements for days. She wondered how he could have possibly known how to fit her so well.

She never understood why the circle put their magi in robes. They seemed terribly impractical to her. Giggling to herself, she imagined being entangled in all that material, tumbling around during a battle. "Now that would be a sight to see, and more fodder for Varric and Isabela's personal amusement." She muttered to the image in the mirror.

While running her hands down over her new leathers, she felt a lump in the pocket of the coat. Reaching in, she pulled out a deep burgundy belt that matched the color of the linen blouse. Astonishment played over her features. The boy knew how to accessorize! She quickly looped the belt around the coat and tied it off, accentuating her narrow waist. _"_Huh, no Isabela curves, but it will have to do." She said, once again speaking to the image before her.

"Alvy, stop fussing and get your preening arse down here!" Carver's voice rudely interrupted her musings.

Stepping back from her own reflection, she made her way back downstairs. As she descended, Carver, Bodahn, Sandal, and even Lord Trevor were all at the foot of the stairway, awaiting her big reveal.

Calling down to her panel of judges, "Way to make a girl feel self-conscious"

Lord Trevor was first to move. He ran up and down the stairs as she finished the last few steps, greeting her onlookers with an exaggerated curtsy.

Carver's expression seemed almost impassive, except for a tattle-tell tug at the corner of his mouth had said otherwise.

"Well brother, what do you think" She asked, taking a single twirl, showing off her new gear.

Carver smirked mischievously, before saying, "I'd say you look like a battle-maiden in the tales of old, if not for the fact you were my sister. So… I guess you look fine."

That earned him another playful slap. "I will take that as a great compliment!"

"En—chant—ment…" Sandal expressed slowly, enunciating each syllable.

Again, Alvy sent the poor lad off running when she bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

Bodahn chuckled at his son's rapid departure and turned to his mistress. "I say my lady; you look fit for a king!"

Alvy gave Bodahn a peck on the cheek as well, "Then, I would say, mission accomplished!"

The half-past bell rang, and there was a knock on the door at the same time.

"I swear, that dwarf waits at my door until the exact time we agreed to meet, just to be annoyingly punctual." Alvy groused teasingly.

Carver made his way to the foyer "Let me get that sister" he said, grinning coyly.

"Behave yourself, Carver," she warned.

Carver swung open the door with an exaggerated flare. He looked down at the dwarf in question, towering over the man while blocking the doorway with his massive shoulders. "Varric" he said flatly.

"Junior" Varric replied in like.

Both men stared each other down. Simultaneously, they grasped each other by the forearm in a warriors greeting.

Carver smirked, asking, "How in the bloody void are ya, old-man?"

Varric growled, "I'll show you old-man, I'll kick your arse with a game of Diamondback tonight."

"Wouldn't miss it, old-man…" Carver answered, triumphantly with his own taunting.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll see how cocky you are when I empty your pockets, and Hawke has to loan you the sovereigns to get back home." He challenged. 'The handsome dwarf, one. Junior, zero."

Carver watched Varric walk into the main room swinging his chain like the arrogant prat that he was. Though, this time, it was all in jest. The two men had their day of rivalry. Now, it had become more of an obscure friendship, with rivalry.

As Varric entered the main room, he let out a low whistle of appreciation. "Milady, never a lovelier goddess has there ever been." He said, grinning wickedly. "Have you seen the mistress of the house? Although, I'd say his majesty may prefer your company."

Alvy scowled. "Very funny little man. This entourage may be a dwarf short if you continue with that nonsense."

Varric pasted on his most charming smile, "I gotta say it, Hawke. You clean up nicely." He bowed before Alvy, depending on his arse saving compliment.

Varric pulled out a silver flask, giving the burning liquid a long pull before offering a swig to Alvy.

"No thank you Varric. You know I have no wits about me when I drink alcohol."

"More for me then." He said, taking a second pull before pocketing the flask. "Any news as to why his majesty has requested an audience with you, Hawke?"

She shrugged, saying, "If anyone was to learn why, I assumed it would be you."

"I have a few ideas, but nothing solid. The rumor-well on this bit of information has been fairly dry." He said, with a concerned expression.

"-And… What are your theories, Ser gossips-a-lot?"

"Truly, Hawke?" he asked, almost embarrassed by her lame wit. "You need to work on your comeback lines. You've been hanging out with Blondie to long."

Alvy smirked. "Maybe I need to attend the Tethras School of nug-shit and wit."

"I'll say" he teased.

"You do look lovely, Hawke. All kidding aside, it's nice to see the wrappings on the outside, looking as beautiful as the package on the inside."

A saucy smile spread across Alvy's lips. She'd been practicing with Isabela on the finer art of being more alluring. Bending down to give the dwarf a kiss on the cheek, she then whispered in his ear, "Why Varric, did you just give a sincere compliment?"

He blushed! The silver tongued dwarf actually blushed! Alvy was near bursting with triumphant glee when…

Varric intercepted her joy in mock warning, "Don't let it go to your head, Hawke. We all have our moments of weakness."

"Fair enough Varric. -And what of your theories?" she asked.

Varric put on his contemplative mask before continuing. "My first theory is, he is looking for a queen. I heard the pressure for him to marry has been the main topic within the Fereldan nobles. You being a mage and all, that one may be too far-fetched." He looked around the room, seeing all eyes on him now. "I'd say my first theory is a bust, if not for the fact his majesty was in love with the Hero of Ferelden. Who by chance, were also a mage, and your cousin, if my information is correct."

Alvy stared at Varric in confusion. "A cousin, you say? Father never mentioned any Hawke's within the Ferelden circle."

"I've never heard him say we had other family in Ferelden." Carver piped in.

"Not a Hawke, an Amell." Varric corrected. "Solona Amell. Seems she was raised in the circle from a very young age. Her parents were descendants of your grandfather's brother."

"How could you have possibly learned all this Varric?" Alvy asked.

She and Carver looked at each other, both appearing struck-dumb by this turn of events. They were related to the Hero of Ferelden? They had lived not far from Lake Calenhad at one point, between their many moves; never knowing they had family trapped in the circle tower.

Varric cleared his throat. "Hawke, it hasn't been easy gathering this information. Ever since his majesty sent that missive, I've been digging in places I never even knew existed."

Alvy patted Varric on the shoulder in comfort and thanks. "Go on please. Varric. Continue with your next theory. The first was a lot to absorb"

"Indeed." He nodded. "My next theory and what feels most likely. King Alistair is looking for allies against Meredith. She has been causing quite the stir with the Divine, and rumor has it, the king is a mage sympathizer. He helps those outside of the circle, giving them amnesty from the chantry."

"Blimey" Carver said, breathily.

"It gets better Junior." Varric glanced between the two siblings and continued. "The hubbub is, Orlais along with the Divine, are being rallied by Meredith herself. She's been pointing her bat-shit crazy fingers at anyone she claims to be harboring blood magi and heretics of the chantry. King Alistair is near top of that list."

Alvy visibly stiffened at the mention of Meredith. "That menace needs to be dethroned off of her imaginary position."

"I think your king agrees." Varric said, emphatically.

Alvy seethed. "We need to see a king about an insane-bitch." And made for the door; two bells was quickly approaching.

~O~

AN/ Thank you for reading, reviewing, just stopping by, or adding to alerts. The more readers enjoy the story, the more I am fueled to write it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bad Dog!**

Alvy, Carver, Varric and Lord Trevor exited the Amell estate. Alvy's renewed vigor against Meredith steeled her resolve that something, anything, had to be done. Kirkwall was not going to survive the tyranny under the Knight-Commander's iron thumb.

The irony of all this was, Alvy did not feel the mage circles to be a bad idea in theory. The practical application of said theory was the main issue. The whole, lock-you-up till you die sort of way, left the theory something less than to be desired.

She understood the dangers of demons tempting magi. She fought such temptations nearly every day of her life. At this stage of her learning process, she was able to see demons more easily for what they were. Their manipulations were nearly child's play for her now.

"We're people, damn them." She muttered to no one in particular.

It was Carver who not only heard his sister, but understood the meaning of her words. He slowed his steps and gently took her hand in his for comfort.

"You are, sister." He said kindly, whispering the words only to her. "Most never see the good ones, only the weak." He gave her fingers a little squeeze. "You are not weak; you are the strongest mage I've met since father, and one of the best people I know."

"Junior…" Varric paused. "Carver is right, Hawke. And I know a lot of people."

Carver shook his head, "Do you hear everything that blows in the wind, Dwarf?"

Varric stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth, quickly removing it with a pop and placing it in the air. He looked up grinning, "There is a low undercurrent in the wind today, Junior."

The party of four made their way from the estate, across the small square, until they were facing the first step up the long trek to Viscount Keep. Extra guards had been posted and Alvy had to show her invitation to proceed.

"Huh. Apparently being part of the Champion's entourage, allows a free pass to all of the exclusive parties." Carver praised appreciatively.

"Not all, dear brother. Meredith declined my name-day party. I was the social outcast for hours that day!"

"I think it was the insistence of wearing paper hats, Hawke." Varric said, chuckling.

"Half way up now, how are those stubby legs holding up, old-man?" Carver asked, crouching down laughing. "I can give you a nug-back ride if you like?"

"Junior, the only thing riding your back these days is the Warden Commander, and he's not my type."

Alvy sighed irritably, interrupting the two men, "Enough with the inane banter you two. I could have brought Isabela if I wanted to worry over bad manners and grace in front of the king." She stopped, waiting to see if they were going to continue. "Let's get to the keep before you two end up having a cock-fight right here on the stairs."

Both men quieted and followed her.

As they reached the top of the stairs, there were another set of guards this time, wearing Ferelden royal armor. There were eight men and women in total; one of those men being a brightly red-haired dwarf.

"No shit, a dwarf in the royal guard?" Varric muttered incredulously.

"Bet yer nug-humping arse there is!" The guard said, obviously hearing Varric's comment.

By default, Hawke handed the dwarf guard her invitation. He looked at her strangely; he seemed as if he were spooked somehow. He muttered something about how the stone would never let a person's eyes free to haunt the living. Alvy smelled alcohol on the stout man and let his peculiar comments pass.

Two guards opened the large doors for her and her companions to pass through. This nearly made her giggle. No one had ever opened doors for her. Unless you count the time Anders got angry and asked her to leave his clinic. She had refused to assist him in some sort of shenanigans involving the chantry and Revered mother, Athena. She tried to demand what he was playing at, and he kicked her out. She had not seen her fellow apostate since.

Alvy took lead as they stepped over the threshold into the keep. Several people were milling about, working, visiting or just as she was, a guest that had been invited. The Templar presence made the keep feel foreboding on the brightest of days. Kirkwall was fast becoming a place of rebellion and infighting under the chantry rule. More like, under Meredith's rule. Alvy was not so convinced the chantry knew exactly what she had been up to.

Directly across from the iron doors, there stood the insane-bitch in all her egotistical glory. Meredith was scowling in her shiny armor, and that ridiculous golden crown thingy on her head. That right there should have been warning enough, that she had been deprived of playing princess as a child and now was living out her twisted fantasies.

Meredith's ire seemed to be targeted on a man in Ferelden royal armor, not the same, but similar to those of the guard. Upon more thorough inspection, Alvy noted the golden inlay in the armor and realized that crazy woman was arguing with the king!

Alvy was stunned, speaking quietly enough, only to share with her companions, "I take it back - she is not an insane-bitch. That woman is possessed by a stupid-demon!"

Varric snorted. "You made that up."

"Did I?" She asked, grinning. "The evidence seems fairly clear, they must exist."

Just then, and as luck would have it – bad luck that is, Lord Trevor began to growl, low and menacing. Alvy reached for her mabari's collar, a fraction of a second too late. Lord Trevor took off and was heading for his majesty.

Rather than yell across the keep, Alvy quickened her steps, hoping to reign in her 'very-much-in-trouble, hound.' Carver swiftly took note of what was happening and went wide to his right, hoping to flank the dog before he got to the king. Varric however, stood back, relaxed and amused, watching the entire spectacle; obviously taking a mental account for his future tales.

Both Carver and Alvy trailed Lord Trevor and stopped abruptly when they ran straight in-between Meredith and his majesty. Her mind began to conjure up all sorts of worst case scenarios, _'Fantastic, I'll not be dragged off to the gallows; they'll forego imprisonment, and simply hang me in the city square.'_ More growling interrupted her musings. She listened before looking, that was not Lord Trevor's growl. She spared a glance at her very-very-much-in-trouble, hound and saw nearly a mirror image of her own mabari.

Two brown mabaris were now standing paw-to-paw and muzzle-to-muzzle. Alvy wondered if she could just freeze the room and have her brother carry off Lord Trevor. Maybe they could take-ship. She was sure Isabela would not be opposed to hijacking one, and setting sail.

"Hey, Look there, seems Dog found a friend." Rang a man's voice over the din, "Although, I think they got off on the wrong paw. He does that sometimes. All war-hound, growls and menacing. He really is just an over grown eating machine."

"Not much unlike his liege lord, your majesty." Yet, another voice entering into the mix of mayhem, "It may have been best had you left him with one of your staff."

"Oh, I don't know. I tend to keep more loyal staff if I don't leave him behind." Came the first voice again, a jovial tone laced in his words. "Remember that one footman I left him…."

The other man coughed interruptedly, then saying, "Your majesty, I think we should discuss this another time, don't you agree? I believe your requested audience has arrived."

Alvy dropped to one knee. Slyly, she grabbed Lord Trevor's nubby tail on her way down. She smoothed her hand up his back and wrapped her fingers around his collar, pulling him back to settle in at her side. She was thankful her hood was still in place as it shielded her from any further embarrassment showing on her already flushed cheeks.

A string of nervous muffled laughter escaped her lips. Alvy was trying to focus on simple breathing. Speaking to his majesty at this point seemed impossible.

Carver knelt down beside his sister and growled a low whisper. "Alvy, get it together, will you?"

Her brother chiding her was all it took. She cleared her mind of all that had transpired. "I beg your pardon, your majesty. Lord Trevor is usually very well mannered." She claimed.

At that, Carver snorted, whispering, "Little liar."

The king laughed, and then saying, "Shall I have a sit on the floor and join you? Or, you know, maybe you could stand up now?"

Both Alvy and Carver slowly rose from their knelt position. Varric made his way over and to her irritation, he looked highly amused. She lifted her head towards the king, eyes still casting downward; she reached up to pull back her hood. Once she looked up at the king's face, his smile faltered and he grew still as stone.

**~O~**

**AN/ **Thank you all for the very kind reviews, story alerts, favorites, or just stopping by. I hope I did not miss messaging anyone with my replies and thank yous.

**Added note **I know my chapters have no continuity in length or word count. My chapter endings always seem to find themselves.

**Also**, special thanks goes out to Erynnar, ladyamesindy, and Cereal-Killer for being uber-licious beta's and genuine inspirations.

**BioWare owns..**


	4. Play Date

**Play Date**

Meredith seemed pleased that the king grew quiet and walked out of the keep, strutting like a victorious war general

Alvy and Carver risked a glance towards one another. The king's reaction once she looked up at him was not only unnerving, it had Alvy ready to beg for whatever mercy her transgressions had caused him to act so strangely. He had not sounded angry about Lord Trevor's behavior. As a matter of fact, he seemed amused.

The king was staring directly at her, as if he found a focal point for his distress. Their eyes locked for only moments before Alvy shifted her attentions elsewhere. The floor, yes, the floor looked quite interesting. It was the nobleman standing with the king that spoke up.

The nobleman leaned in closer to the king, then asking, "My liege. If the Champion would not be opposed, may we have a few moments to converse in private?"

Nothing.

"Your Majesty, please..." The nobleman pleaded. He tried tactfully, not to draw any onlookers attention in their direction.

All concerned were waiting motionless for the king to react. It seemed an interminable amount of time before he even blinked.

What broke the spell was the two mabaris whining in unison. The king gave a cursory glance at the dogs and said to no one in particular, "If you will excuse me." Taking unnaturally long strides, he was up the stairs, around the corner, and out of sight.

The nobleman's gaze turned from the king's retreating back to fall on Alvy. His own eyes widened but he recovered quickly, composing himself after what Alvy assumed was the shock of his king walking away without explanation.

"Where have my social graces gone?" he said, with a rueful smile. "I am Arl Teagan, adviser to King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden."

Alvy curtsied awkwardly, unable to control the wavering in her voice. "I am Alvy Hawke, your grace. I am honored to meet you."

Arl Teagan bent over, taking Alvy's hand, placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. Smoothly, he gave praise, "I assure you, the honor is all mine, my lady. Your prowess is renowned. The tales of your accomplishments have reached the far ends of Ferelden." He winked before continuing. "You have become quite the living hero."

Alvy controlled her embarrassment. These sorts of accolades felt to be only half truths. Graciously, she replied. "If I am a hero, it is not without help from others just as talented as you claim me to be, your grace."

It was Varric this time who decided to cease being an observer and asked, "So... your king?" He left the comment in the air, pointing in the direction the man made his escape too.

"Yes, that." The Arl looked up the stairs, "I honestly have no answers for his departure. I am as puzzled about this as you all are."

The Arl spared a glimpse up the stairs once more, before returning his attentions to the group. "Lady Hawke," he began. "If I may impose, and it would not be an inconvenience, may we convene at your estate later this evening? Say, seven bells?"

Alvy's toes curled up in her boots until she could feel a numb sensation settling in. The king in her home - crazier things had happened, that was true. But, well… This was a king! Not just any king, he was her king. She still considered herself a Fereldan first. Kirkwall, although, spending seven years of her life here - handling problems from one end of the city to the other, never truly felt like home. This had been her mother's legacy. More and more, she was beginning to appreciate what Carver had meant by it all those years ago.

Carver saw his sister deep in thought, battling some sort of indecision. He decided to chime in. "We were planning a dinner tonight. Perhaps we can make an affair of it?

The wardens would be biting at the bit with these stories. Carver wished he had Varric's flare, but figured dinner with a king held enough weight that his storytelling abilities wouldn't matter. He was pulled out of his grandiose musings when a white hot pain struck him through the leather covering his toes. A black boot belonging to a much smaller foot was the source of his torture. He didn't care. He took the pain like a man and spared a grin for his sister.

After adequately inflicting pain on her brother, Alvy righted herself and finally replied. "My brother is correct. " She acquiesced. "We are indeed planning a dinner tonight. Orana, my treasured cook would be happy to arrange a menu to accommodate. I dare say, you will enjoy her flair for fine cuisine. Much to our happiness and stomachs, she never serves anything terribly Orlesian." Alvy smirked at that. If anyone would appreciate the jest, it would be her fellow Fereldans.

The Arl chuckled at that, "We accept your gracious invitation to dine with you, my lady. –And I speak for the king as well, when saying we will both be in attendance. "

"Can you do that?" Carver asked. "You know, speak for the king?

The Arl grinned roguishly, and then explained. "You can when you pull the uncle card or sort of an uncle anyway."

"How can someone be sort of an..." Carver had started to ask when he was cut off as Alvy pushed his shoulder, pointing him to the door of the keep. She leveled her glare towards Varric next and both men turned about face, saying their goodbyes to the Arl.

"Lord Trevor, home," she commanded, pointing towards the iron doors. Lord Trevor sat next to the other mabari and whined sadly. "I know you've made a friend but you need not overstay your welcome - if you had one to begin with after that display."

Teagan watched the two mabaris and then looked back up and casually looked into Hawke's eyes once more. Alvy's mabari whined once again, as did the the king's charge; both seemingly making a connection with one another. This was all too surreal. And then he remembered something. Hawke, now back in her ancestral home, the renowned Amell estate; a family with a long lineage of nobility. Then there was Solona Amell. What were the odds?

The Arl gathered his wits about him, then asking. "Maybe Lord Trevor would like to stay for a visit, and come back to your estate with us for dinner? I promise to return him in good health." That would serve Alistair right for his ominous exit, leaving him to smooth things over. Let him take on two of these overgrown boys at once.

"Lord Trevor." Alvy's tone was very serious. "You will be a proper gentleman to his majesty and his grace, yes?"

That earned her a happy bark and a slobber coated hand. Alvy just laughed. She turned to Teagan with a wicked grin, saying, "You are a brave man Arl Teagan. I ask that you please send him home if he is a bother to you or his majesty."

"Worry not my friend. I will be just fine." Teagan assured with a sly grin of his own.

**~O~**

Teagan called for the hounds to follow him and up the stairs they went. The keep's guest apartments housed visiting dignitaries and royalty alike. He ascended to the third floor and made his way to his king. What he was going to say too snap Alistair out of his stupor, was beyond him. He realized the cause for his withdrawal; at least he thought he did, but had no idea the effect it could cause after so many years.

Everyone knew the king held off marriage with several excuses. Some of which were only explained as Grey Warden secrets. Others were his romantic notions of marrying for love, and there were concerns of unfairness to whoever was unfortunate enough to be forced to marry him. The latter also came with the elusive Grey Warden secrets clause.

Teagan knew some of his reasoning was possibly true. He also knew the man could not let go of what he had with Solona. Arl Eamon, his now deceased brother and former chancellor to King Alistair had argued endlessly about circumstantial love. How two people thrown together in dire-straits can find comfort in one another. This is when his brother found out exactly how strong a backbone the young new king had. Alistair had his fill of the new chancellor's drivel, the man that had also raised him in the early years of his life. An anguishing roar from the young king echoed through the palace, along with a full condemnation regarding Eamon's opinion on the subject. The conversation had silenced his brother on that particular matter for good.

Right outside of the guest apartment, Teagan faced the two mabaris and lowered himself to scratch their heads and ask a favor. "Be sure to keep the king entertained, you two. He needs some cheering up!" In their own doggy way, Teagan could have sworn they both chuckled at his request.

As Teagan and the hounds entered the sitting room, both dogs took off with their muzzles to the ground, sniffing out a new adventure, or likely following the scent of food. The apartment was simply yet elegantly designed. From the looks of things, the former Viscount was not at all ostentatious.

Teagan steeled himself and went onward in search of Alistair. It didn't take long to find his whereabouts. He was standing in front of a large bay window looking over the keeps gardens. The expression on his face and in his stance was heavy with melancholy. Teagan stood silently, waiting to see if Alistair would address him.

He didn't.

A few more moments passed by and just as Teagan was about to speak, Alistair asked a question. He was unsure if it was even directed towards him, or just his inner thoughts being said aloud.

"Did you see them?" Alastair asked. He turned away from the window and faced his almost uncle. "How could you not. Even you should remember them. They were, are," he corrected, "unforgettable."

Teagan wanted to act as if he had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Feeding into Alistair's melancholy was never a good idea, knowing well from past experience. How could he though? Alistair had the right of it; he did notice Alvy Hawke's strange eyes. They were the very same eyes that he looked upon during the blight. Solona's eyes had been so unusual, he had even wondered if it were a mage thing.

Teagan relented, and with earnest, he replied. "Yes your majesty. I noticed Alvy Hawke has similar eyes too…"

He was cut off by Alistair's abrupt ire. "There. Is. Nothing. Similar. About. Them" he spat out each word slowly. "They are a precise match. The amethyst shone just as brightly, and the liquid silver flecks around the edges were exactly the same!"

-And with that, Teagan knew it was going to be a long afternoon until Alvy Hawke's dinner party.

**~O~**

**AN/ **Thank you all so much for the amazing reviews, story alerts, favorites, and just stopping by!

Special thanks to erynnar & ladyamesindy for being the super duper beta goddesses!

**BioWare Owns.**


	5. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**Guess Who's Coming to Dinner**

"Orana, please calm down." Alvy pleaded with her over anxious servant. "Whatever you plan to serve will be perfect, as always."

Orana came to be in Alvy's employ four years ago. Her situation was impossible and the little elf was lost, confused, and had had no idea how to live any sort of free life. Her former _master_, (Alvy thought to herself, scathing) Hadriana, or maybe it was actually Danarius himself, who had owned Orana as a slave. Now she was free and a paid servant in the Amell estate. Alvy, along with Bodahn, had worked with Orana tirelessly, showing her what it was to be a free woman. Even Aveline, on her days off would take the little elf on shopping trips, showing her how to function in her new world.

When they had first encountered Orana, Fenris had growled his disapproval when Alvy offered her a place in her home. By default, the man had assumed Alvy would keep her on as a slave. Her jaw had dropped incredulously at her companion's accusation when he'd said as much. She knew Fenris would never fully trust her because she was a mage. He trusted no mage, but she thought they had come to some sort of respectful understanding. Alvy had realized though where he was coming from and chose to gently explain the offer she'd made to the slave girl. Fenris' muscles had relaxed and with that came yet another one of his apologies for being an assuming angry arse.

Alvy's musings were interrupted by Orana's continued dismay. The elf was not yet convinced, no matter how Alvy tried to put her mind at ease. Another surge of panic rose from the little elf, and on her way back to the larder she began muttering "Mistress, he is a king! A king will be dining here, eating my cooking, and right here at that table!"

Alvy shook her head and then called down the hallway. "It will all work out, Orana!"

**~O~**

Back at the Hanged Man, Isabela sat in the chair next to Varric, and propped one of her booted feet up on the chair opposite of her. A saucy and inquisitive grin played across her features.

"What, Rivaini?" Varric asked the pirate, knowing full well what she was there for.

Setting her elbows up on the table, she leaned in conspiratorially and asked, "Well, did you meet his royal yumminess?" She asked, winking sweetly at him.

Varric rolled his eyes. What was Rivaini expecting him to say, 'Y_es, the king was most handsome and I believe we will have a moonlight stroll overlooking the gallows bay?_' Instead he chose to deflect her nosy questioning. "Is yumminess even a real word?"

The pirate snorted. She knew Varric was withholding some juicy details. When it came to Hawke, nothing ever went as planned. There was always a story behind even the smallest of her escapades. "Of course it's a real word." She shrugged. "I find a certain dwarf to have the yummiest chest hair this side of Orzammar," she said, grinning coyly. "And before you ask, yummiest is a real word too."

Varric couldn't help but laugh at that, and maybe he even preened a little with the mentioning of his chest hair. He was indeed quite proud of it. Still, he knew Isabela was fishing for whatever bits he might be willing to dish out. Again, he chose another deflection tactic, asking, "Has it ever occurred to you, Rivaini that the meeting went well and without incident?"

"Varric, you little scamp! You're just trying to keep me distracted." The pirate accused. "Now I know something happened! Come on little man; spin me a yarn worthy of that glorious chest hair."

Varric couldn't control his grin when Isabela called him out on his nug-shit. He sat back, lacing his fingers together and placed them over his midsection as he began to weave his tale. "It all started when Lord Trevor…" He might have embellished a bit while telling his story, but no more so than usual.

Isabela burst into a teary eyed laughter. She held her stomach with both hands while giggle-snorting after Varric finished. "Oh Varric, you are terrible. It's why I like you so much," she praised, still unable to stop her laughter.

"Take it down a notch, Rivaini," he warned. "We don't need every dreg in here snooping into Hawke's personal affairs. She has us for that."

"Shit," Isabela blurted unexpectedly. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit, Varric! Something's occurred to me..."

Varric chuckled, interrupting the pirate, saying, "Just one, Ravaini? Don't stress over much. I hear it causes wrinkles."

"Not funny little man," she chided, and then frowned. "Something always niggled at me when I look at Hawke. Now I remember why!" He watched her nearly bounce out of her chair; she stood up, and then continued. "You know the story of the Hero of Ferelden, right? Well. I knew her," She smirked. "Let's just say we were entangled - six arms, six legs and four of those limbs are now and every bit, his royal majesty's."

Varric was hoping this was going somewhere. So he asked, if only to encourage her, "So you had sex, Isabela. You are always having sex. And that would be different, how?"

The pirate grinned. "Remember that little poem you wrote. The one about the amethyst-eyed goddess? As if we all didn't know who you were scribbling about." She winked. "The Hero of Ferelden had those same exact eyes! Why had I never put that together before?"

"Because most of your activity is in the dark, under sheets?" Varric teased.

The pirate smirked at that. "Hush you. I am serious, Varric. The king was very much in love with the Hero. Those eyes are a bit creepy, in a sexy and exotic sort of way. Nevertheless, he had to notice!"

Varric sat back in his chair, contemplating all that Isabela had just revealed. "Who's going to tell Hawke?" Varric asked worriedly.

**~O~**

"You truly expect me to sit across the table from this woman, forcing me to look into-" The king paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "Those eyes? How can you even ask this of me, Teagan?" Alistair started pacing maniacally. "No. You can't ask this of me. I won't do it!"

Teagan sighed in frustration. He did understand this would be hard on Alistair; nonetheless, the king had to show goodwill regardless of his personal emotions. He also had to make up for his irrational departure earlier that day.

Teagan switch up his strategies, leaving political duty at the wayside. He decided to approach this in a fashion that often made it easier, and yes, was somewhat more manipulative. But it would put the conversation in his favor. "Permission to speak freely, uncle to nephew, your majesty?

Alistair raised an eyebrow at his uncle. "Can I stop you?" he asked, knowing full well Teagan would continue on regardless.

There was his opening and Teagan jumped right in. "Alistair, I realize your emotional pain in all of this. However, if my information is correct, Alvy Hawke could be Solona's cousin." Teagan paused, assessing his nephew's reaction to this bit of news. When it seemed Alistair was more curious than distressed, he pressed on. "Would it not be good for you to meet this family in a less formal setting; a chance for you to get to know Solona's family?"

Alistair's curiosity was palpable now. Teagan could see the wheels turning in his nephew's mind. He waited for it all to click, his patience finally paying off.

"When you say, you _think _this woman may be her cousin, are you only guessing?"

"Not guessing entirely, no." Teagan hurried along further. "Several things added up and fell into place. First, Hawke bought back her family estate. An estate owned by the Amells of Kirkwall for several generations. Secondly, and most obvious, the fact they share two common likenesses, those exotic eyes. I've never witnessed the like, before Solona. And then there is the mage coincidence. Since having magic is often passed down through the blood, this too makes my conclusions more certain."

Two mabaris came running through where Teagan and Alistair stood conversing. Both were rolling over each other in some sort of wrestling match. Alistair looked away from their spectacle and seriously asked his uncle, "Why do we have an extra hound?"

Teagan chuckled at the display the two mabari were exhibiting. "I believe it's called a play date, your majesty." When Alistair jumped into the fray, joining the hounds, Teagan roared into full blown laughter.

Alistair rolled out from between the hounds and propped himself up on one elbow. "Teagan-" He started in all seriousness, a stark contrast to his earlier mabari wrestling. "I'll go along with this." He held up his other hand, assuring no interruptions. "–And before you get any ideas into your head, no, this is not an opportunity to get me engaged. Solona cannot be replaced."

"It's dinner, your majesty." Teagan replied dryly. "Besides, surely after this afternoon, Lady Hawke likely thinks you are insane."

Alistair smirked, and in his own awkward witty way, he replied. "I hear women go for that whole broody, insanity thing."

Teagan turned to leave, though, not before having the last word "You keep telling yourself that, your majesty. I will make arrangements for baths. Smelling like a war hound at dinner may be less than palatable."

**~O~**

Orana had not been seen for hours. She'd taken up refuge in the kitchen all afternoon and refused anyone entrance. Carver wanted to thank the Maker for small mercies, a tray of cheese, fruit and bread was left on a side table in the dining room to appease any grumbling stomachs.

Alvy had also retreated to have a bath in her rooms. Carver was left with Sandal and Bodahn, while Sandal was obsessing over a new enchantment he was working on.

"Is that what I think it is?" Carver asked, pointing to the glowing solid rock of lyrium, very much resembling what they had found on their Deep Roads expedition.

"Enchantment…" Sandal said, chanting the single word with reverence.

Bodahn beamed at his son. "Indeed it is, Lord Carver. Mistress Alvy brought that here for my dear boy to find a way to dispose it. Seems the lad here, has found other means to use the raw material."

Carver ignored the title, Lord. He realized it was useless and let it pass. Instead, he asked, "Isn't it dangerous? Alvy says Varric's brother went insane with this around."

Bodahn praised his son's ability. "Just so, my lord, just so. Messere Bartrand was not my Sandal though," was all he offered as an explanation.

"Don't forget to fill the watering cans, Bodahn." Carver teased.

Alvy had bought watering cans for every main room of the house. After several sparks, followed by the replacement of several scorched rugs, she had decided preventative methods needed to be put in place. Sandal's genius was not disputed, although his enchantments could sometimes be… a bit hazardous.

Carver made his way over to the stairs; he turned back before making his ascent and called back to Bodahn. "If my sister ever makes an appearance again, tell her I went to get ready for dinner."

"Very well, messere." He agreed.

By the time the six and one half bell had rung, Carver, Bodahn and Sandal were cleaned up, dressed and ready for the king's arrival. Orana had been flitting about arranging, rearranging, and arranging again, all the place settings, flowers, and candles between the dining room and library. She had decided the best room for drinks and dessert would be the library, as it had been made into a comfortable haven for receiving guests. Alvy herself, was nowhere to be seen as of yet.

In the time it took Carver to drink two-fingers of Antivan Brandy, he was worried his sister was going to be late to her own dinner. His worries had become real when a knock came from the front door. Bodahn run off to answer it. Carver stood listening from just outside of the foyer.

Bodahn opened the door, and Carver assumed, the dwarf bowed before he spoke. It just seemed something very Bodahn like. Gracious as ever, Bodahn greeted the king and Arl Teagan in perfect form. "Your majesty, your grace, may I say it is a great honor to have you both dining with the mistress." The door had been shut and he was escorting the king and the arl into the home.

Carver observed that the king stood stiffly and hung back behind the arl. He wanted to skip the niceties and ask the bloody bloke what his problem was. However, his sister would be grinding more than a boot heel into him had he chose that course of action. Instead, he gave a slight bow and greeted them politely.

"You honor us," was all Carver managed.

Arl Teagan, ever the diplomat from what Carver had witnessed earlier, replied. "It is we who are honored. It has been weeks since we sat comfortably in a fine home with what smells to be a delicious dinner awaiting us.

Being competitive, Carver thought to one-up the whining over a few meager weeks of life on the road. "My sister sings praises of Orana's culinary talents. I am also looking forward to my first home cooked meal in over five years."

Carver was about to make small talk before he caught the king's gaze and followed it. He saw that his sister was making her impressive entrance. Her descent down the stairs was like watching a princess at a grand royal ball. _And bloody hell, she was wearing a gown!_Carver had not seen her in a simple dress let alone a gown, since they were children. By the time Alvy was fourteen, she'd refused their mother's every effort to make her wear a dress.

Alvy made it to the bottom of the stairs, _without breaking her neck_, and Carver was still staring. He broke his gaze away from his sister and looked around the room. He then realized everyone else was staring too. Her gown was silver, with amethyst accents wrapped around the skirt and some sort of button up thing that looked like a very uncomfortable torture device suffocating her mid-section, also matching the amethyst in the skirt. He noted that the colors matched her eyes almost to perfection.

Carver once believed Alvy was found on a roadside because of those eyes of hers. There was no way they could be related. He assumed his parents didn't have the heart to tell her she was abandoned and they had taken her in. The thought of his childhood musings had him chuckling out loud and all eyes were now on him.

"Sorry sister." Carver grinned again after offering an apology. "The gown caught me off guard. You look... nice." he finished lamely.

It was Arl Teagan, with a practiced flourish for compliments, who approached Alvy, bending slightly as he took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. He rose back up and commented smoothly. "My lady, you are an absolute vision of loveliness this evening."

Carver watched as his sister dipped her head down and blushed. Who was this woman and where in the forsaken void did his sister go?

"Thank you Arl Teagan. She said, smiling prettily. "I get little opportunity to dress so finely."

She what? This demon could not be his sister! Carver thought to poke her with a sword solely to see if an abomination would rise out of her.

Carver watched as a reluctant king made his way over to her, also kissing her knuckles as etiquette would demand. "My lady, I am humbled by your generous invitation into your home." he offered kindly.

Carver felt the king's words sounded rehearsed. Maybe they all sounded like that, having to repeat the same courtesies over and over.

His sister bowed gracefully, saying. "It is an honor, your majesty. Please take comfort in my home and know you are very welcome."

Alvy's nearly imperceptible clinch of her jaw would have been missed by anyone else. Carver had been witness to this little quirk of hers since he was a babe. Something was off and he was sensing it. Did the king make her uncomfortable, and if so, why?

Orana peeked around the corner and demurely motioned for Bodahn to meet her in another room. Not long after, Bodahn came back, announcing dinner was being served.

The men followed Alvy into the dining room. Orana had arranged for the king to sit at the head of the table, and Arl Teagan at the opposite end. Alvy and Carver were to take side seats opposite of on another. Between a show of respect and an arrangement offering good conversational strategy, Alvy was pleased with the little elf's forethought and planning.

Once everyone was settled in, two male elves dressed in service finery began to carry out the first course: a summer squash gazpacho with fresh basil and toast points. The cold soup had been poured into elegant bowls Alvy was unaware that she even possessed. What was more curious, where did these elves come from? They were well trained and very professional. Bodahn, standing at one corner of the side table, gave Alvy a little wink. So that is where they came from. Of course, Bodahn never missed protocols on etiquette. Alvy made a mental note to give the man a little gift for his spectacular hindsight.

The elven servants stepped away, taking their place on the back wall of the dining room. Alvy cleared her throat, asking. "Your majesty, would you like to give thanks this night?"

Alvy rarely prayed to the Maker unless her arse was in the midst of stabbidy-stabs or struck by another mage. More often than not, it was more like, _Maker's arse! Not again! _That particular call to the Maker might not work well when dining with the king.

The king grinned mischievously and for the first time, Carver thought his expression seemed genuine. "I could," he agreed. "I feel it only fair to warn you though, The Maker may see fit to smite the main course when I'm finished."

Alvy chuckled and even seemed relieved. Arl Teagan hesitated for a moment, though his smile spread across his face as well. Carver observed the exchange between his dinner companions, wondering if the king had finally recovered from whatever disturbed him earlier that day.

**~O~**

**AN/**I want to thank each of you for the wonderful reviews, story alerts, adds to favorites and the passers-by reading the story.

My friends first and uber beta goddess, Erynnar, Ladyamesindy, and Piceron. These ladies keeping me on my toes and are all inspiring.

**BioWare Owns. **

**PS: **I chose PoV with Carver in the end of the chapter. Why? I really fail horribly when describing all that fluffy stuff. Who better to defluff a description of a dress, than a brother?


	6. Shiny Things

**Chapter Six. The Eyes Never Lie.**

When entering Alvy Hawke's home, he was taken aback to find Bodahn in the service of the Champion. This all surfaced a paradox of feelings within his memories when Bohdan and his son traveled with his motley group during the Blight; it also had him feeling nostalgic for happier times. The irony was not lost on him; they had also been the direst in his life. Between the rush of activity in the home, preparing for the meal and Alvy Hawke making a stunning appearance in that gown, Alistair missed an opening to chat with the dwarf. He promised himself to rectify that soon after the meal was over.

Alistair had also been extremely thankful not to be sitting across from the Champion. At least with this setting, he'd have to make an obvious effort to peer into _those_ eyes of hers; the eyes of ghostly memories.

Foregoing the actual prayer before dinner, which became overlooked after the king's warning of smiting the main course; everyone waited for Alistair to take the first spoonful of soup. He often found the ritual amusing and highly unnecessary. It's not like it would taste any different if he went first.

A voice broke through his inner thoughts. "What say you, my liege?" asked his uncle.

Alistair played it off by answering in jest. "Oh, you know. I say lots of things." He chuckled. "Anything in particular, or are you just testing me?"

The Arl was primed tonight, teaching Alistair that moments of wandering minds can catch you off guard. "Apparently our king is enjoying the soup so that his concentration lay only in the bottom of a bowl." He fired back, with wry humor.

The brother, Carver, Alistair reminded himself, chose to add his two coppers, saying. "It's a Grey Warden thing. We can't seem to find the bottom of a bowl or plate fast enough." He raised his spoon to the king, grinning knowingly.

Did he just save the moment with a taint joke? The king joined in on the camaraderie, and raised his own spoon to a fellow Grey Warden. "If all else fails, blame the taint, I say."

He listened to the Champion stifle a giggle. It tickled Alistair's ears hearing her feminine tone of laughter. He thought to himself, I can do this, right? She wasn't _her_, and perhaps those eyes were not his torture. Maybe they were something else. What, he had no idea as of yet.

Giggling again, the Champion turned her attentions to the Arl, offering her water glass in cheers. "Ah, Arl Teagan," she said sighing in pseudo dramatics and winked. "We outside of the mysterious Grey Warden secrets will simply have to make up our own stories. I personally think they use it as an excuse for gluttony."

She winked! She winked at his uncle! Alistair then blurted, "Teagan has a lovely wife. You would like her." After, and completely dumbfounded with himself, he looked to his bowl and filled his mouth with a spoonful of soup and bread.

"Indeed I do," said the arl. "Why my Kaitlyn chose an aging warrior bachelor was indeed my good fortune."

Alistair snorted. "Yes, because surely you hadn't any prospects before her," he teased. Although, he could hear the adoration in his uncle's voice. For once, not paying attention worked out in my favor, he thought proudly to himself.

Alistair felt more relaxed by the time the main course was served. The companionable chatter during the meal had become easier and his stress when first meeting Alvy Hawke had been melting away in layers with the passing time.

**~O~**

Bodahn and his son were both invited by his majesty for dessert and drinks in the library. He knew the mistress was unorthodox when it came to mixing employee with guest in social settings. It was one of many things he found refreshing about her view on the world. Still, he deferred to her when asked. His reply was a brightly lit smile and she reached down to pull on his shoulder for them to follow.

The seating in the library had been meticulously arranged for conversation. Every high back chair and the settee were in perfect position so that no guest was left out of the social mixer. In the center stood a large lower level table, instead of a centerpiece, sat a multiple layered cheesecake with a rich chocolate ganache glazed over the top. Succulent strawberries were surrounding the plate and on top of the cake. The cheesecake was truly a work of art and terribly Orlesian. Bodahn had hinted to Orana that the king loved his cheeses. She not only excelled, she was a magical marvel in fine confections.

Sandal wandered about the room while the others chose where to sit. The boy was not one for sitting idly and Bodahn made no excuses for him. Everyone in the room knew his son well enough.

He, messere Carver, and the arl had taken the three high back chairs, while the single settee was standing alone. His mistress and the king both stared at the piece of furniture as if needing instructions on how to use it.

"Sister, maybe you have to promise the king you don't bite before he takes a seat?" Carver said, chuckling at his own witticism.

The mistress recovered quickly. Anytime her brother would tease her, she had always seemed to find a way to douse out the flames of provocation in short order. "I can only make such a promise, if his majesty can do the same," she said, winking at the king. She immediately took her seat on one end of the settee.

The king joined her, however, he seemed in need of recovery from the mistress's teasing. Bodahn saw a familiar sight for sure. The king's cheeks tinged with blush behind his sunny tanned complexion.

His majesty turned his attentions to Bodahn. "So, Bodahn. How did you end up in Kirkwall, and find yourself in service of the Champion? I wanted to offer you a place as the palace quartermaster and give Sandal his own enchanting workshop."

"Your offer would have been most gracious, your majesty, most gracious indeed," he agreed. "But you see the boy and me had some traveling to do. I promised the lad some adventure before my old bones returned to the stone."

The king nodded, and then asked. "And the Champion?"

"She saved my Sandal, she did. The poor lad had wandered off into the Deep Roads during Messere Bertrand's expedition. The mistress never wavered when asked for her help. She agreed and here he is, safe and sound." Bodahn finished, peeking over at his wandering son with fatherly pride.

"Bodahn makes my life far too easy here. I feel as if I only have to walk in, read a message or two and walk right back out again. I wish outside of my doors was so well organized," Alvy said, smiling. "The most complicated business in my own home is what's for dinner and when to get some sleep."

Just then, Sandal walked over, standing at the arm of where the king was sitting. "You have the shiny?" he asked curiously.

"The shiny… Wait, what?" Alistair stammered. "Oh! The shiny. Yes Sandal, I still have my shiny." The king confirmed.

Sandal clapped his hands with excitement, and then holding out his hand, he offered, "Enchantment for the stars."

The king looked down into the proffered hand. In it, was a weapon rune, the likes of which even Bodahn had never seen before. "Is that what you had been working on, my boy?" Bodahn asked his son.

The mistress chuckled and then added. "What could be a better gift for a king, than evil raw lyrium turned into something genius by our boy-wonder of all things, enchantment."

Bodahn felt a nervous rush crawl up his spine hearing how his mistress explained the origin of the rune. Before he could muster up a clarification however, the king raised an eyebrow quizzically and then grinned. "Stranger things have happened. Not many mind you, but it probably counts in my list of top ten strangest gifts that I have ever received."

The king turned back to Sandal, asking. "Will you place the rune in my sword as well, Sandal? I have it at the keep and would be happy to bring it to you." The king leaned in conspiringly smiling. "I could never entrust anyone else but you with the shiny."

**~O~**

There was not only a king in her library having wine and cake; he appeared to be incredibly genuine. The man sounded noble, save for the peculiar humor. She had heard that Maric the Savior also had a similar comical lighthearted wit about him. Both the father and the son were easy going and never saw the inside of a palace growing up. King Maric hadn't seen one until he was crowned king once the Orlesian occupation had been overthrown. Alvy was now idly wishing she had met King Maric, all so she could make comparisons between father and son.

"Champion," the arl called to her attention. "I realize I took you by surprise earlier in the day, concerning my suspicions between your family's history and the possibility of being related to the Hero of Ferelden. There are legal accounts in the Kirkwall archives dating back to the founders of this city once free from the Tevinter Empire. Have you seen them?"

"Firstly, Arl Teagan, please call me either Alvy or as my friends do, I am also called, Hawke." She asked kindly. "Champion is a title, not a name. Also, no I haven't even considered checking into the records archives. This was my mother's life. Me and my siblings knew very little of this existence and was raised in the Ferelden farmlands all of our childhood."

"If you will forgive my inquisitive nature, Alvy, I did take some time today viewing the Amell legal documents."

"Find any skeletons in my ancestral closet?" she teased.

The arl grinned slyly. "My lady, a noble possesses those sorts of histories, only in personal storage." He then added, "Under lock and key."

"Huh." Alvy mused. "When I bought back the estate, we had only a few actual skeletons, though, not so tidy to be placed in any armoire."

The look of shock on the king's face was almost too priceless for Alvy to assure him, "Worry not, your majesty." She guaranteed him, smiling sweetly. "We cleaned them out before moving in."

The arl chuckled. "I had heard the estate had fallen into the hands of a most unsavory group of slave traders. The staff at the keep is most happy to talk of the rise and fall of your family." The arl raised his glass of wine. "Here is to the new Amell-Hawke dynasty. May you find happiness in all things, my lady."

"If it had been up to my mother, I would have been married with a house full of little Amell's to carry on our lineage," she smirked. "She would have likely insisted that my imaginary betrothed take on the Amell name too. Wouldn't that have been awkward to explain at parties?"

Carver snorted. "She'd been desperately remiss with my lack of heirs."

Alvy smiled wickedly at her brother. "That's only because you've not the courage to ask the pretty little elf more than awkward questions." That comment earned her a nasty glare. "Sorry brother, all in good sibling fun." Alvy hurriedly raised her wine glass to him in supplication.

"Nice save, sister." Carver said, shaking his head. "If that were only the half of it."

The king looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked, "Perhaps we can all meet tomorrow. Lady Alvy and Carver could join us for breakfast, Teagan? We can make a day of digging through dusty tomes and legal records?"

"You really know how to show a woman a royally good time, your majesty," Alvy said teasingly.

"Yes…" The king said amused. "All the ladies fall for my cheese omelettes. Just you wait and see. You'll grow weak in the knees after eating one."

"You cook?" Alvy asked a bit surprised.

"Me, cook?" He asked, laughing fully now. "A king knows when to defer and delegate to others when he realizes his limits in all things cooking."

The Arl interrupted politely, "I think it's a marvelous idea. Shall we meet at eight bells then?"

"It's a date," Alvy agreed, turning to the king and artfully grinning. "I have high expectations of cheese omelettes making me wobbly in the knees."

He laughed. "You'll see, my lady"

Everyone said their farewells and the king, arl, and Carver made their way to the keep. Carver offered to escort them, opting for full armor and blade on his back. Kirkwall nights were notorious for not being safe.

Alvy felt her heart flutter when the king kissed her hand with his goodbyes. Too much wine has gone straight to my head, she decided, not wishing to over analyze the sensation, and then retired for the night.

**~O~**

**AN**/ Lots of AN in this chapter.

As always. My thanks goes out to all those who read, review, add to alerts and favorites. If you're a passer-by reader, thank you as well!

There is a lot of dialogue in this chapter, well, more than my usual, which is also often a lot. Let me know if you wish more narrative story and less conversation, or has it been a good balance? Any of your thoughts are welcomed. I'll be the first to admit, dialogue and conversation between characters are my strengths. Narrative is what I call, a WIP while on a learning curve. J

I made a game jab in good humor. Anyone catch it?

Thank you, **Erynnar, ladyamesindy**, and **Cereal-killer**, for taking the time to beta and keeping me on the straight and narrow with commas and such.

BioWare Owns


	7. Tricksy Demons

**Tricksy Demons**

Alistair and Teagan thanked Carver for the armed escort to the keep. It amazed the king - people always seemed to forget he was a warrior. Although, he supposed tonight made sense; he was not armed or armored. Neither was the arl. He had given the guards traveling with the royal entourage the night off; assuming a walk across a stone courtyard full of Templars and the short distance to the Champion's home would be safe enough.

Entering the apartment, Alistair realized something had been missing. "Uh, Teagan," Alistair called. "Where is Dog?"

Teagan looked back at the door and then to his king, "I would assume he is at the Hawke Estate with Lord Trevor," he chuckled. "I hope I make a better parent when Kaitlyn has our little one, than I am at dog watching."

Alistair could see the longing in his uncle's eyes. He missed his wife and with her now expecting, these travels were becoming harder on him. "We'll be home soon, uncle. Way before I am a cousin, or will I be an uncle, or is it a sort of cousin?" he babbled. "Either way, you will see her soon," he assured.

Teagan walked over and patted Alistair on the shoulder. "I know we will. You will have to find someone else to travel with soon if duty demands. I cannot see myself leaving her when she is heavy with child."

"About that, Teagan," Alistair said, shuffling from foot to foot nervously. "I asked Aedan Cousland if he would be interested in the chancellor position."

Teagan first looked shocked and then, a slow smile spread across his features. "Your majesty, I dare say, I am proud of you."

Ready to plead his case, the realization of his uncle's compliment forced him to double back. "Then, you're not angry, you know, because I asked someone else?"

"Alistair," Teagan started, more uncle-like than adviser. "The Cousland brothers have been through much in the last decade. With Fergus being remarried and the duties of his Teyrnship; his younger brother is free of any obligations and would be a perfect choice for several reasons. He is just as adept in politics. I will also add that his high standing with the nobles is not just due to his expertise, but also his popularity. You have selected wisely."

"Well, that was easy," Alistair murmured.

"Has he accepted?" Teagan asked.

Alistair grinned and admitted, "He has, in a way. We agreed that you were to be informed before he would officially announce the news to his brother of his discussion."

Teagan smiled, an all-consuming pride lit his face. "You know I wish to stay at Redcliffe, Alistair. You not only did a kind service to me, my wife and Redcliffe's peoples. You also have shown once again, you are a good king."

Alistair's face must have been exuding emotion. He watched his uncle go from smiling proudly at him, to mirroring his own expression. It was that awkward instant when you realize you're are a man about to tear up in front of another man.

Alistair coughed. "Yes well. Good-night then, Teagan and sleep well." His uncle returned the well wishes of sleep, and both men retreated to their rooms.

Finally settled into bed and wondering whether he would have to offer Alvy Hawke a new mansion after Dog possibly ransacked her home, he felt another bout of heaviness fall over him. Another strange room in yet another unfamiliar bed; he was ready to be back at the palace again. This also was a source of amusement for him. After a time back in the palace, he wanted to be out roaming the lands again.

Although being home sleeping in his own bed with an endless supply of cheese to pilfer in the middle of the night sounded all well and good. Alistair was not ready to depart just yet. First, he was also curious about the Amell family history. If he were honest with himself, it was not just for Solona, but also for the Hawke family. That wasn't entirely true either. Carver Hawke seemed to care very little about the past. He was out marking his territory like most young men did. Alistair also knew Carver's life had already been given a timer. He would be making every endeavor, an adventure.

It was Alvy. He couldn't deny seeing her discoveries about her family excited him.

When sleep finally carried him into his dreams, he saw the familiar eyes staring back at him.

_While he sat on an old fallen log, dangling his feet into his favorite pond near a campsite they used during the Blight, a figure walked soundlessly through the water. There was no splashing or sprays of water coming from the strides of the person approaching him. Another trick of the mind, he assumed. This time however was slightly off. The dream world was clearer and details of the camp and water came into better focus._

_Alistair's dream-self became a cold statue as the figure was now in full view. Several moments passed by and that face, her face was smiling at him. He blinked a number of times to clear his concentration. "Heed my warning demon - I'll not play your tricky games."_

_The demon giggle-snorted. What sort of demon snorts? He thought._

"_Really Alistair. Your Templar skills are shameful. When's the last time you smote anyone?" the demon asked and then giggled at him again. "Can you not sense a real demon anymore?"_

"_What would happen if I pinched you?" he asked casually._

_The demon grinned roguishly, "I'd pinch you back, silly."_

_So much like her, he swore her scent was in the air. This demon was good. How many years had this creature been rummaging through his brain, plucking out vital bits all to play this hoax on him now? As a matter of fact, why now? Why wait eight years to come torment him? It would've made more sense to do so in the beginning when his wounds were raw and his heart was breaking from the loss of his Solona. Had seeing Alvy Hawke's eyes resurfaced something that gave this demon an opportunity to strike?_

_Well, that was enlightening, he thought to himself. He thought of those eyes, not as Solona's but of Alvy Hawke's. But what did that even mean? He knew Solona would never fully leave his heart. He truly believed there was no room for another to reside within the space she had filled. Guilt washed over him, even considering such a thing._

"_Alistair...," she soothed, "you have nothing to feel guilty over. We had a classic love story sung by the bards, or at least one bard that I am sure of," she grinned._

"_It was not a story," he growled. "Get out of my head demon."_

"_There can be no love story, Alistair, without the love."_

_Alistair felt hot tears stream down his cheeks and rage roaring up through and out of him. There was no stopping all of his protected misgivings. All of the words that fell empty on dead ears all those years ago. "Eight years Solona. Why? Why have you waited so long to come to me? I needed you! You left me there at the gates while I had to battle on, knowing you were going to die! Knowing, and the whole time there was nothing I could do to change it…"He felt the rising tide during his outburst, as well as the defeat by the time he had finished._

"_You gave me no options, no choices, and I allowed it." There it all was laid out before him; the crux of so much of his guilt and pain. He allowed it all to happen. He made no choices and let all the responsibility of command weigh her down._

"_Does this mean you finally believe I am not a demon?" she asked gently._

_He answered with less conviction as before. "Not especially."_

_Alistair looked over and observed the familiar eyes that always had him undone were not pleading with him to believe her, but waiting patiently for the realization to settle in. He turned his gaze away and noted the weeping-willow trees cascading leaves were still, the water in the pond had no small creatures swimming around and the air felt as if it hovered, rather than circulating. He was awed by the clarity in this dream. The sharp contrasts of colors were vivid, too bright, skewing the normal hues of nature._

_Looking over at the demon, or Solona, it really didn't matter anymore, he said, "I've never had a dream that felt so real and at the same time, it doesn't."_

"_A mage has more control in the fade. I am here with you and can join your dream with my own ability to shape the scenery," she explained simply. _

"_Hey, that's handy," he quipped. "You mage'ees get all the fun stuff."_

_She chuckled, a sound so constant in his memory after all these years. "May I tell you what gifts you have given me, Alistair?"_

"_A dead rose?" he deadpanned._

"_No disrespecting the rose, Alistair. I loved my rose and I'll not let you make light of it," she chided._

_It really is her. He considered that for a moment. What demon would chastise him over a gift?_

"_You gave me a life; a life outside of stone walls and rigid schedules that allowed me to spread my wings and grow as a person, and not just a mage. Yes, you backed away from leadership, and yes, you pushed me forward to assume that role. But don't you see Alistair? I was all the better for it. I relished every single moment I was given the ability to prove I was more than a cur on society. All of my theory and practical planning was of use. I felt needed and wanted." She paused and lightly placed her hand over his. "This was all because of you, albeit inadvertently or not, this was one of your greatest gifts to me other than your love, which is the greatest of all."_

_Fresh tears welled up in his lower eyelids after her declaration. "Why did you choose to die Solona?"_

_Solona pulled her hand off of his, then reaching up and flicked his head with her index finger. "Don't be silly. I did not choose death. I was hoping Riordan reached his goal. In the back of my mind though, I knew if he didn't, it would have fallen on either you or me. I did choose me. Was it selfish? Perhaps. You were king and Ferelden needed stability. Your death would have toppled the county back into civil war. The most selfish part of my decision was, the people of Thedas would know a mage saved them. Did I play the martyr? Not intentionally. Though, I must admit it didn't hurt to displace some former prejudice regarding magi."_

"_I get it - I get it," he granted. "Just so you know, your finger thumping on my head is still not nice." To add emphasis and prove his point, he reached up and rubbed the spot on his head where she left a stinging throb._

_Solona's voice took on a mischievous tone. "Don't be such baby, your… majesty..."_

"_Oh really?" He asked with his lopsided grin that had gotten him out of many an argument with her. "You are an evil-evil woman."_

_Solona stood facing him, reaching her hand out and touched his cheek with the pads of her fingers, while her thumb stroked feather-like under his bottom lip. "You will be waking up soon my love." She bent down and kissed his forehead before moving to his ear saying, "Alvy is special. More than she even realizes. Not just as a mage, but she can sense another's feelings when they touch her. She has gone her entire life with this ability and she sees it only as a natural thing."_

"_Why do you speak of Alvy?" Alistair watched her face as he asked, "You know she is your cousin, don't you?"_

"_I do," she confirmed. "She has such a bright flame in her. I know you can see it, even if you have tried doing otherwise." Raising her other hand, she brushed the spot on his hair where she had flicked earlier. Her voice took on a sobering seriousness and continued, "The times are changing and her flame and strength will be but a part of what's to come."_

"_Nothing ominous about that now is there?" he asked, while leaning into her hand._

"_You are waking up Alistair," she warned._

_Alistair couldn't resist, in his heart he knew this was his first and last chance to be with her, to say their goodbyes and make peace with all the inner demons he had carried with him for all these years. He rose to his full height and pulled Solona into his arms. He gently held her head cradled into each hand and kissed her. It was a kiss of greeting, love and farewells all rolled into a single moment._

The early morning rays of the sun were playing over his prone form when he slowly awoke. Alistair looked around the borrowed bedroom from his poor vantage point of the pillow and slowly rose into a sitting position on the bed. _That was interesting_, he mused.

**~O~**

**AN/** Thank you all so much! I am having so much fun spinning the tale and learning as I go. I am in awe of the amazing reviews and the amount of readers on this story. You all rock, and roll!

Thank you to my bodacious beta's Cereal-Killer, who eyespies all those little things. Ladyamesindy, who gets out the whip in short order when I ignore my tenses. Last and never least, Erynnar who's spice can kick anything up a notch.

My title today is a play on another epic story. Thank you M for the idea. Anyone catch it?

BioWare Owns.


	8. The Awkward List

**The Awkward List**

When Alistair cleared the sleep from his eyes, he slid from the bed and stood up ready to face the day. He dressed casually in a pair of soft dark brown leather breeches, an earthy green silken button down shirt, and a cream-white overtunic.

When he went to slide a pair of everyday walking boots on, he found a little gift left by none other than Dog. He laughed aloud when a half chewed pork rib bone fell to the floor with a soft thud. Most dogs would find a spot to bury their bounty, but not Dog. He had often chosen various bizarre places to hide his snacks.

Once cleaned up and dressed, Alistair felt lighter, there was more bounce in his step, and he truly looked forward to the day ahead. With all the unrest in Kirkwall, his focus at that very moment was singular. He was curious about Alvy Hawke, and as he looked deeper into his own subconscious, he realized it was more than the single yet intense similarity between her and Solona.

What had Solona meant by her being special exactly? Was his dream even real? Considering how strange and clear it was, he decided it had to have been Solona and not a trick manifested by his own desires.

He thought to make another appointment with the scary metal overlord of Kirkwall before he departed for Ferelden; thinking he couldn't possibly make things any worse. He would try to smooth the much wrinkled relations between himself and Knight-Commander Meredith. The woman was a conundrum to him. His rusty Templar skills sensed magic rolling off her that felt unnatural. A strange enchantment perhaps, or maybe he was imagining things considering her glare alone could scare darkspawn back into the Deep Roads.

Six bells rang through the quiet sleepy city and that gave Alistair enough time to find the keep's cook.

When he stepped out of the guest apartment, two of his guards fell in behind him. He stopped, turning to address them. "Have fun last night?"

"You bet we did!" came a gravely battle hardened voice. "This city could give Denerim a run for its sovereigns when it comes to entertainin'." A set of bright red bushy eyebrows waggled as he continued. "Hey, your majesty, ya think we might get least one more night to, ya know, visit some places here?"

The king asked seriously, "What does Kirkwall have that Denerim doesn't?

"The Bloomin' Rose…"

Alistair scrubbed his hand over his face, grimaced and looked down at his trusted yet nearly always drunk senior guard saying, "Oghren, stop right there. I do not, I repeat, I do not want to know."

Oghren shrugged and remarked, "Suit yourself."

Turning away and back down the corridor, Alistair made his way to the kitchens. He had given the cook a special cheese they procured in their travels and now was the perfect time to show off his knowledge of fine cheeses for Wobbly Kneed Omelettes.

A few wrong turns and backtracking, he finally picked up the scent of food cooking and chose to go with his better senses. The aroma led him straight to his target, a grouchy prideful older man with salt and pepper hair and impressive frown lines. When Alistair first met the man, he wondered if a smile could crack the skin around his mouth. Try as he might, his charming awkward wit had not even fazed the man.

The king stood opposite the cook at his preparations table waiting until he finished chopping something green. What was his name again? Ryland, no, Roland, no, damn! Alistair mentally cursed himself.

While trying to remember his name, the cook spared him a glance and sighed haughtily, "Yes, your majesty?"

"Omelettes."

"Omelettes," he mimicked dryly. "Care to make that an entire statement, or am I to play guessing games?"

"We could make a game out of it." The king grinned. "Something tells me you'd not be much fun though."

"How astute his majesty can be." The cook's tone was droll tinged with condescension. "Color me surprised."

"I'm fairly certain 'surprised' has no color." Alistair returned with a humorless quality in his words. "But never mind that. The Arl and I will be entertaining guests for breakfast at eight bells this morning. If you will be so kind, please make omelettes using the cheese I brought for you to store for me."

"And how many shall be dining on these, cheese... omelettes?" he asked, as if the concept of cheese in eggs was below his culinary abilities.

"There will be four of us, although," Alistair paused to consider. "Two of us have very healthy appetites. I suggest you prepare enough for at least six. You're free to add any side dishes you feel adequately complement the meal."

"I shall cherish the task, your majesty."

Alistair laughed at that. He couldn't be offended by the bloke's sarcasm; even if it wasn't the cook's intended purpose to be comical.

After calming his laughter, Alistair added, "One more thing, please also send up two of those meaty soup bones as well. We don't want two warhounds stealing our breakfast."

"Eating with the dogs. How very... Fereldan."

The king slapped the table, startling the cook and added his departing farewells. "I'll sorely miss you, R- um... cook."

**~O~**

Alvy entered her mansion followed by her brother. He had opted to tag along after her and Isabela concocted a ruse so that the pirate could finally face down Castillon. A man that had been dogging Isabela's trail ever since she had freed a shipload of slaves he had been in the process of transporting and trading.

Alvy slumped into a chair in the library and sighed from exhaustion. "Bath. Bed. Sleep for a week." She muttered.

Carver smirked, and then reminded her, "I think not sis, or have you forgotten breakfast with the king?"

"Maker's bollocks." She huffed. "Why do I allow Isabela to drag me about chasing after her problems?"

"Because it would be completely out of character for you not to get dragged along fixing other's messes?" He asked, raising a single eyebrow at her and grinning. "What baffles me is you let this scum, Castillon, go. And then you consent to an exchange for the slave trader's freedom, with Isabela getting his ship in the process."

Alvy snorted. "I consented to nothing of the sort. I am not Isabela's keeper nor her conscience." She then grinned wickedly at her brother. "Besides, I had a little talk with Varric as we left the landing. Castillon will not be a free man for long. The dwarf was trailing him once we all parted. He plans to send one of his urchins to Aveline once he finds where Castillon and his incriminating documents settle, so she can arrest his sorry arse."

"Impressive, sister." He nodded. "Isabela gets her ship, and the greasy bastard gets what's coming to him. Well played."

Alvy preened a little at that. Her brother complimenting her was rare, even more so when it was genuine. She rose from the chair and stretched her aching tired limbs with an audible sigh. "Bath. Less bloody clothing. Breakfast with the king and Arl." She sighed again. "Bed and sleep will have to wait." She leveled her gaze on her brother, saying, "For you as well, dear brother. You were also invited."

Carver jumped up acting as if he had a full night's rest. "On it, sister." And he bolted up the steps with high energy that made her scowl at his retreating back.

~o~

Alvy gave her name to the third floor guard, and he permitted them entrance, escorting her and Carver, with two dogs in tow, to the king's guest apartment.

She rapped at the large mahogany door three times, before fully pulling her hand back. The red headed dwarf guard she met the day before swung the door open with a wind-whirling force, causing Alvy to take a step back.

"It's you."

Alvy blinked, taken aback by the dwarf's odd comment which felt more like an accusation than a statement. "If meaning, you, as in me specifically, then yes."

"Whadda's that supposed to mean?" the dwarf asked, shaking his head obviously confused.

Alvy herself was unsure of what she had said. It was supposed to be clever, but it came out sounding convoluted, even to her.

"I believe," she pointed to the opened door. "We are expected by the king and arl for breakfast."

"Yeah – yeah. You all go-on-in." He groused. "And don't even think I ain't keepin' an ear out." His voice trailed off as he walked down the hall, grumbling some more nonsense like the previous day. Something – something… "It ain't right." Something – something… "spookin' a fella…"

Alvy and Carver looked at each other and Carver shrugged saying, "Odd bloke." She nodded her agreement and turned back towards the open door.

Lord Trevor and Dog ran in ahead likely sniffing out the scent of food. Alvy had given them each some scraps before leaving the mansion, though that meant little to a mabari when more could possibly be had. The hounds pushed on while Alvy and Carver waited just inside the sitting room.

The king strode in to greet them, obviously hearing the commotion outside the apartment and seeing both dogs freely roaming in.

Alvy noted the power in his stride, the strength in his legs that were clad in very well-tailored leather breeches. _He is beautifu_l. Wait, what? She mentally shook her head of such thoughts, and smiled brightly, trying to disguise her desperate desire for sleep. It's just lack of sleep and a sluggish brain, she thought, comforting herself.

Alvy looked directly at the king and their eyes locked briefly. Something was different about him; he almost looked the same, but minutely somewhat changed. His eyes appeared brighter, and the lines creasing his forehead seemed to have dissipated, if only fractionally, yet the change was noticeable.

Alvy was tugged away from her thoughts when the king spoke. Or did he have to speak again? Oh Maker, she never should have stayed up all night! Even worse yet, she had stayed up all night chasing Isabela around and then battling a group of slave-traders.

She felt Carver shoulder into her, causing a slight misstep in her balance. Both he and the king chuckled at her startled expression. She becoming their source of amusement. She scowled; it was an impressive scowl at that. Both her brother and the king coughed nervously and stopped laughing.

Alvy held her head up proudly. As she walked away from the two men, she spoke over her shoulder, "Men!" and continued into the next room before the king had a chance to properly escort her.

Upon entering the main room, Alvy noticed a round dining table centered in front of a large bay window. It was set simply with polished silver, white stoneware serving dishes with matching plates, bowls, and teacups. In the center was a silver serving tray with a domed lid. Around the tray in the serving dishes were fruits, breads, and various other side dishes.

The arl entered the room from a hallway within the apartment, beaming a smile in greeting. "Good morning, Lady Hawke"

"Good morning, Arl Teagan"

Walking over to the table, "My lady, may I?" the arl then pulled out a chair for her to be seated.

She smiled kindly, accepting his gesture. "Thank you, my lord."

Carver and the king followed not far behind, also taking their seats. Alvy gave both men a haughty glare and then looked directly at the arl and offered her compliments as courtesy demanded. "This all looks very appetizing. I must thank you again for the invitation." She may not have grown up as a noble, but she was raised by one.

Alvy looked over at the king and saw the hidden worry on his face, likely over her poor behavior. You're acting like a prat. Alvy tiredly scolded herself. Erasing all her embarrassment and calming her temper, she tentatively smiled at the king; offering it as a meek olive branch after storming off and leaving him behind in his own apartment. She was relieved and rewarded when he returned it with a warm sweet smile of his own.

**~O~**

Alistair would never admit it, not aloud anyway. Alvy was adorable when her temper flared. He'd never want to see her truly angry, and if she were anything like Solona, he knew better than to be on that side of her ire.

He was feeling quite comfortable in the company of his present guests; so much so, that Alistair ate his fair share of the meal, and then some.

The conversation was light and friendly. How long had it been since a social meal was so relaxing? Never, unless it was only Teagan and Kaitlyn dining with him. Kaitlyn had her own special gift, always being able to set anyone at ease around her.

"Alistair." Teagan called to get his attention. "I took the liberty of sending a missive down to the archives last night and asked that all Amell records be gathered and brought up here. It seemed a more comfortable environment in which to be searching through years of tomes and records."

Alistair nodded his agreement. "We can make a mess up here instead," he teased. "It was a good idea, Teagan. I admit I had felt no prospect of adventure climbing over crates and dusty shelves all day."

Alvy giggled, a tired sounding sort of breathy laugh as she blurted. "Try chasing a pirate all night and having breakfast with a king right after."

"Do tell, my lady," Alistair encouraged, and perked up, smiling from ear to ear. "This sounds like an adventure!"

**~O~**

All eyes now on her, Alvy blushed after speaking her thoughts out loud, rather than keeping them safely tucked into her brain. Her sleepy state had her mind flailing in all sorts of directions. And now, the king wanted a story. "I don't think I meant to voice that," she said, covering a yawn with the back of her hand.

Teagan chuckled, joining in on cajoling her to regale them with the tale. "Don't tell us you are going to tease with a comment like that and not dish out the details?"

Alvy yawned again before saying, "I fear I have little energy to give the story the justice it deserves."

"I do," chimed Carver. "I'm not a bard, but I can recount the vital bits of interest."

"Very well," said the king. "Let's hear it."

"Isabela, she is the pirate in question…"

As Carver continued the tale, Alvy noticed the king had an unusual look over his features. He looked as… as if he were a child caught in the sweets jar before dinner time.

The king rubbed the stubble on his chin in deep thought and then asked, "This – this Isabela, is she Rivaini, by chance? Dark skin, big brown eyes, and very, um..."

"Curvy," her brother finished. "That'd be the very one! Saucy minx. If you ask me, she is more trouble than she is worth her weight in gold."

The king coughed after her brother's comment. "Yes, well. "

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door and Teagan got up to answer it. After returning, the arl was followed by two young men carrying an armload of stacked crates. How could there be so many records?

"Alvy," her brother called to her. "I have to leave tomorrow and Aveline asked if I could do some training with her two-handed warriors this morning." He looked properly apologetic as he faked his shame. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Shoo, go on and play swords. I know history of any kind holds about as much interest for you as mother's stories of garden parties."

Carver grinned devilishly. "I'll make it up to you, promise."

"I fear I must depart for a time as well," the arl murmured. "I have a meeting with Seneschal Bran, the boring snob. In any event, I'll assist when I get back."

The arl bowed to his king, and to Alvy, which made her giggle.

She smiled and waved at the arl, "see you soon Arl Teagan."

"So," the king began shyly. "I suppose it is just you and I left to rifle through these. I guess we should get to it then." He heard the tell-tale waver in his voice as he spoke to her.

Curiously, Alvy asked, "Do you not find it strange, as a king, to be willing to dig through old smelly tomes all afternoon?"

"You find this strange about me?" He beamed a lopsided smile at her. She lost her breath for a single moment, drowning in what had to be the most perfect smile in Thedas. "Wait until you've known me longer, you'll see that list grow."

She considered that. Would she get to know him longer? It seemed highly unlikely to her. He would move on and go back to Ferelden, doing all his kingly things, and she would be here cleaning up other people's messes. After all, it was what she did, as her brother so kindly reminded her.

She watched as the king grabbed one of the huge tomes from a crate. With his free hand reaching for her, he offered, "Care to join me on the sofa for some light reading?" Alvy smiled, and took his proffered hand. Together they sat and cracked open the dust covered leather binding.

Her mind became distracted when she looked over to see Lord Trevor and Dog curled up sleeping next to each other. She actually felt jealous seeing them sleeping so comfortably and peacefully on the floor with full bellies.

Everything grew so quiet. With half lidded eyes she noticed a darkening shroud blocking the natural light in the room, and…

**~O~**

Alistair had been skimming through the first open pages of the tome he and Alvy sat down to read. A slight warm weight began to press in on his arm and when he looked over, Alvy was asleep. He watched her slowly slide further up against his arm from her former position of sitting next to him. _This is awkward_.

As the minutes passed, he realized she had not just dozed off, but was in a deep sound sleep. Her body shifted again and her head lolled down his arm and partially into his lap. _Now this is really… awkward_. He watched her final movement as she unconsciously got comfortable in her deep slumber. Her legs stretched over the rest of the sofa and her head was now planted cozily on his lap.

Alistair carefully slid his arm out from under her and laid it across the back of the sofa. Looking down at the woman, his eyes drew to the heavy knot of hair on top of her head. Iwonder what her hair looks like set free of that clip? Her hair color was like dark silky chocolate, warmed with highlights that reminded him of autumn. Absently, he looped a loose lock into his finger that draped over her face and smoothed it back and behind her ear. She stirred slightly and a soft mewl escaped her lips. _Oh Maker, just kill me now!_

Just because the Maker had such a sadistic sense of humor, he heard the door open and close, followed by the footsteps of Teagan. His uncle froze in place when seeing him and the Champion together.

Alistair assumed he now had flaming red cheeks with Alvy sleeping like a baby on his lap. He watched as the arl's face went from shocked, to amused, with him grinning ear to ear.

"Not funny," Alistair whispered. "I guess she really was tired."

Teagan whispered back. "You really know how to entertain a lady."

"Not laughing here. Not one-single-bit."

"That makes one of us then." Teagan teased. "How do you get yourself into such predicaments?"

Alistair could feel the heat rising over his skin from toe to scalp. _How did he always manage to end up in situations like this_? Not 'this' specifically of course. This particular scenario was even new for him. _Let's just add this to the long list of awkward moments._

Teagan, still far too amused, walked over and gathered another tome from the crates. He bowed and then whispered, "I'll be in the gardens reading."

Alistair rolled his eyes and then asked, "And what of me? You cannot seriously leave me here like this."

"I think you have everything well in-lap, your majesty." Pointing to the tome in the king's other hand, "You also have something to keep yourself occupied."

If a glare could burn, his uncle's retreating back would be set aflame.

**~O~**

AN/ I can never thank you all enough for reading/reviewing/ adding to favorites and alerts. I can try though!

Bodacious beta's! What would my writing be without you? Oh yes, full of missing commas and grammar oversights! Thank you Cereal-Killer, Erynnar and Piceron for making my story gleam and glitter!

A little story note. This wraps up the entire prelude to how these two 'maybe' love birds start to connect. I will be pressing the timeline a bit faster with more vital events starting with the next chapter. Seriously, so far? We have but two days covered in eight chapters. I need to get this party rolling!


	9. Loopholes

**Chapter Nine - Loopholes**

Ten bells rang, more reading. Eleven bells rang, and more reading. For the umpteenth time, Alistair looked down at the woman sleeping snugly on his lap.

She had barely moved throughout her slumber and the angle of her head was tipped upward in a perfect profile. He watched her eyelids flutter occasionally and wondered if she were dreaming. He also wondered what she was dreaming about. A myriad of quirky smiles, frowns, and grimaces played over her soft pink lips, accompanied by unintelligible babble and sighs.

In the back of his mind, he had been rolling around an idea when it finally came to him. "Maker," he hissed, startling himself. Alistair gazed down when Alvy shifted her position, rolling onto her back and face up on his lap. Her arms curled up onto her chest and she drew her knees up. He thought she would wake but then a soft purr of a snore rhythmically followed with her breathing. He quietly chuckled at the sound. He found it to be soothing, unlike the bear snores from his uncle that could be heard through the walls of their borrowed apartment.

Alistair pulled a small throw blanket from the back of the sofa and gently covered her. Knowing that when he curled up in his sleep, it often meant he felt a chill. After a while under the blanket, she stretched back out again. He had made an assumption and was happily satisfied with his ability to care for someone; even if it was only a small act.

Looking back down into the pages of the book, he attempted to focus on the sheets before him but his mind wandered elsewhere. The realization of his own cogitation had him brimming with excitement. He needed his uncle to confirm the legality of his idea. If there were anyone besides the Couslands in his court that could find a loophole, it was Teagan.

After his wife and child's death, Fergus Cousland had spent eight years alone, until he met, fell in love, and married a non-noble.

Fergus' new bride, Helena Farley, was the daughter of an import-export merchant from a well-loved family of Highever.

Alistair himself bequeathed her title as Teyrna-consort of Highever - a newly created position in his kingdom between a morganatic marriage held between noble and commoner. The new title appeased the nobles and allowed Teyrn Cousland to marry whom he wished.

Upon Fergus' death, the Teyrnship would go to an heir of his own, or his brother, rather than his new wife. All were satisfied by the compromise. Alistair also saw that his new wife would not be without means if Fergus should pass before her. She would be considered a Lady of the court and given a small holding and stipend to comfortably live out her days.

Fergus was responsible for drawing up a legal declaration for his wife and submitting it to the royal archives. He portioned out a piece of land and commissioned a house be built and deeded to Helena if widowed.

All of this brought Alistair back to what had caused his excitement in the first place. Alvy Hawke, for all intents and purposes, was a noble. The legalities of her being a mage were skewed by her freedom. Not as an apostate, but as a legally and recognized free mage. Knight-Commander Meredith presented Alvy as a free citizen and publically announced it when she titled the mage Champion of Kirkwall.

Alvy's lineage was indisputable. The tome Alistair had been perusing read as an impressive who's who of noble lineage. Her family history dated nearly as far back as his, well half of his anyway. The matter of her being a free mage was the possible chink in the argument that she could possibly hold a title.

A hairclip poked his leg as Alvy started to stir on his lap. Alistair reflexively glanced down. This time he was greeted with half lidded amethyst eyes peering back up and him. He couldn't help but smile at the sight before him. She looked away from his gaze and turned her head to the side, which revealed a small darkened patch of sleep-drool on his breeches. He chuckled, deep and throaty. That was until she followed his line of sight and blushed fiercely.

"Don't worry about that," he chuckled again. "Dog does it all the time."

No – Maker no, he did not; he had just compared her to a dog drooling on him. Alistair's thoughts were scrambling for a recovery until her heard her giggle.

Alvy sat up and turned to him. "At least I have better table manners and don't soil the rugs." She bent at the waist in a full fit of laughter. "Let me," _more laughter_, "get you," _taking a deep breath to calm her fits_, "a linen napkin from the table."

"Oh look, it is shaped like our blessed Andraste." Alistair said, now joining in on the fun. "I think we should run right over to the Chantry and make a formal announcement. Lady Alvy, Champion of Kirkwall, slayer of everything beastly, and drooler of the Sacred Holy Spit of Andraste!"

Alvy snorted and corrected his majesty, "Drooler, is not a real word."

"I'm a king," he said waggling a single brow. "I decree 'drooler' as an official word in Fereldan tongue."

Both he and Alvy were laughing until tears streamed down their cheeks.

"I can see Her Grace now," Alvy said, still laughing. "A king being pulled by his ear for pulling childish pranks and me locked up in the gallows for aiding and abetting him."

That stilled Alistair's merriment. The very idea of Alvy locked up anywhere, let alone the horrid Gallows made his heart skip a beat, and not in a good way.

"I would never let that happen, you know," he said solemnly. "I would…"

"You would - would what, your majesty?"

His broken voice was barely above a whisper, he gazed into those familiar eyes adorned by Alvy Hawke, "Not let them take you."

Coming back to the sofa with a napkin in hand, Alvy patted the spot on his breeches, "I know I am only as popular as my last heroic act, Alistair." Using his given name shocked him, and also brought him joy. He listened intently as she continued, "Whatever lies ahead for me is unclear, and I can only venture to guess. For now, I keep Kirkwall safe because it is where I live, and those who cannot protect themselves, they have people like me to aid them."

All he could do was look at her, her eyes, her face, and be nothing short of amazed.

**~O~**

She felt an odd sensation of balminess wash over her while talking to the king. Alvy used his given name in such familiarity; she nearly apologized for the slipup. The smile on his face was a signal that maybe he didn't mind so much. What truly caught her breath were his eyes. When he looked at her, she saw something new and resolved within them. More than that, she saw something unidentifiable to her.

Feeling slightly bolder, and likely less sensible, she asked, "Why do you look at me in such a way?"

That lopsided smile that stole her breath earlier in the day seemed even more beautiful the second time.

His voice lowered an octave and crackled sensually. "How is it that I am looking at you?"

Alvy thought both his smile and that gravel in his voice should be outlawed. No one should have the power to make her lose her wits about her, simply by speaking and smiling.

Lost in that voice, that smile and the way he was looking at her, all smoldering and sexy, she blurted, "Are you flirting with me, your majesty?"

"Never," he said grinning slyly. "I would never dare flirt with you, my lady," he paused and a boyish grin graced his features. "I will simply charm you with my awkward manliness and sweep you off your feet."

What was the most logical thing to do with that comment, stunned as she was? She looked down at her feet. Sadly, she found no answers while she stared stupidly at her leather boots.

Seconds, minutes, hours maybe; the world stood still and all the air had been drawn out of the room. A gentle warmth covered her shoulder and she looked to find its source. A hand, his hand, laid there passively. Her eyes unbidden, journeyed from the long strong fingers that splayed over her, to a wrist that connected to an even more muscled arm unable to hide beneath the clothing. A broad shoulder emanating power personified, swept up into a pulse point on his neck. Her gaze lingered there, watching the beats that matched his heart.

Her hypnosis was broken when another hand reached for her and fingertips curled under her chin. The direction of her head was gently altered and now facing the very man causing her to lose her breath.

"Alvy," he called to her, all heart and heat in his voice.

Immobilized, she could only blink her eyelids in reply.

"May I kiss you?" he asked, so polite and gentlemanly.

Alvy closed her eyes, and tilted her head; praying to the Maker that this amazing man could hear her thoughts. _Yes_…

Images of blue flames danced in her mind. Pure heat rushed over her skin as his lips, feather soft, covered hers and dissolved perfectly into each other. Gentle fingers cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. The kiss deepened and his tongue begged for entrance while sweeping the wet velvet along her lower lip. She indulged in his desires, and poured her own into him.

She was dizzied, staggeringly so. Her body felt like mist and vapor hovering insubstantially in the air.

Alvy's trance was abated when the king slowly pulled away from her mouth and kissed the tip of her nose. Something about that made her gush inside and maybe even giggle a little.

Alvy bravely opened her eyes and raised her gaze to the king who sat before her. When their eyes met, an onslaught of chaos and confusion collided in her mind. The differences of their positions suddenly hit her with a clarity that washed away her previous passion and replaced it with panic.

From where she sat next to the king and the distance to the door seemed miles out of her reach. Alvy stood so abruptly, Alistair's attempt to gently take her hand failed and fell to his side.

"Lord Trevor, come!" she commanded with more censure in her voice than intended. He whined his protest and rather than ask again, she practically ran out of the apartment leaving Lord Trevor with the king.

Just outside the door, she waited. As predicted, Lord Trevor scratched from the other side begging to join her. Alvy cracked open the door just enough for her hound to slip through but she was not quick enough. She saw her king standing in the archway of the sitting room, looking more wounded than her heart could bear.

She ran…

**~O~**

**AN/** First and always, I want to thank all who read - review -add to favorites- and alerts. Those who just stop by! Thank you as well.

**FenZev**, drool is on you!

Very special thanks to my bodacious betas. I have no clue how I'd manage without them. **Erynnar:** with her flare to shuffle things around. **ladyamesindy:** With her tenses whip and no fear of using it. **Cereal-Killer**: for his OCD grammar checks.

**More AN/** I did some research on the legalities of mismatched noble and commoner marriages within a royal system. With what I found as truth, I played upon and used liberties to fit the AU story.


	10. ShutIn

**Chapter Ten – Shut-In**

That kiss. He still felt the blazing heat pulsing on his lips as he stood in the archway for several minutes after the door closed. He just stood there, watching her leave. What would he have done if he did stop her? Nothing, because he had no right; he was honestly confused by her sudden, silent departure.

As king, he and Teagan had come to Kirkwall with a task, one that was a longshot, though, it still needed to be pursued. They had hoped the Champion of Kirkwall might rally the citizens and influence the shift from anarchy to order. The infighting between mage, Templar, commoner, and noble, all had divided the city causing a massive fracture.

That the Free Marches were so close to his own borders, and Ferelden always looking for allies, he and Teagan set out to meet The Champion.

The Chantry had been a problem in Ferelden, only losing some of their power hold over the last decade. With Solona's death and in respect of her memory, Alistair had taken it upon himself to right all the wrongs done to the people in his kingdom.

First there were the magi. Although Ferelden was not as well known for Templar brutality, it had happened upon occasion. Even as a trained Templar himself, he had never seen a mage as anyone but a life with special gifts. Those said gifts needed to be trained and a mage needed purpose, as did anyone else.

Now, any mage outside of the Circle could find refuge and autonomy in his kingdom. He and a small council had been working tirelessly since his coronation to create schools of learning for the magi that came to him seeking protection. Rather than locking them up, he vowed to provide them with educational opportunities, and the young could grow up learning how to be a part of society rather than separate from it.

Understanding that change would be needed from both sides, Alistair established a new Templar order; separate from the Chantry, and known as the Ferelden Order. The goal of the new order was to work with the magi rather than be their jailers. Side by side they trained, were educated, and by doing so they learned to not only understand each other but to recognize the necessity for the other's presence in the grand scheme of things.

Surprisingly, some Templars defected from the Chantry, seeking a place within the new order. All who applied underwent a rigorous examination of loyalty and dedication to this new strategy. The ones who remained after this stage were retrained and weaned off lyrium, though not all survived the process of withdrawal. The king adamantly refused to have anyone in the new order addled by dependencies upon lyrium, and he set about proving to the Templars that their abilities had nothing at all to do with their addiction to the mineral.

These ideas made the king less than popular with the Chantry. The Divine herself wrote him a small book on his lack of foresight and the penalties for not abiding by the Maker's will. He was labeled a mage sympathizer. That gave him a good laugh. Even before Solona, he had been fascinated by magic and never feared it.

What he worried over, though, were people with the intent to harm others for power and greed. He had seen enough of that in full during the Blight and in his own court. Thus far, he had dealt with more vipers of the non-magical persuasion than those that could shoot lightning out of their fingertips.

The Chantry branded him a heretic. Alistair called it being humane.

As if having the Chantry and their Templars mad at him wasn't enough, Alistair then turned towards the situation with the elves. Another council was created after he named the first elven bann in history. To be honest, he liked making history and could never understand why more kings and queens could not be bothered. How were they to progress if they never moved forward?

The authority of the council quickly began making changes. All alienages throughout Ferelden lost their gates. The barrier walls were opened up to the cities and taxes were adjusted accordingly to begin rehabilitating the housing and living conditions. The elves still kept to themselves for the most part, though more and more were integrating as time passed. Elves now owned shops, worked trades and were offered opportunities for education.

Unsurprisingly, giving the Dalish their own land ruffled a lot feathers too. As the years passed, the Dalish had settled into their new lands and become less hostile towards humans. If Alistair were to guess, it had been more because most humans avoided the area altogether, though a few brave tradesmen had created a peaceable working existence with the elves. It was a start.

The last major act Alistair had put into place was an equal employment law. He was particularly proud of that one. It was still a work in progress, but one worth the long term goal.

So lost in his thoughts was he, Alistair did not hear Teagan enter the apartment. By the time he noticed, Teagan was nearly shouting for his attention.

"Where's Lady Hawke?"

Alistair kept his gaze indirect, running his hand through his hair and muttered, "She ran off. My fault, all my fault."

"What," Teagan started and then slowly sat in a chair close enough to converse. "Happened?"

"A nap, some drool, laughter, me struck-dumb with attraction, and a kiss that wrought havoc on all involved," he murmured. Alistair dropped his head into his hands and sighed. "Tell me Teagan, have you ever had a woman run out of a room after kissing her?"

Teagan stammered, "I…"

"It was a really great kiss, one of the best ever," he declared, shaking his head. "I just don't get it Teagan. She seemed as enthralled as I was. I cannot possibly have imagined that, could I?"

Teagan held up a hand to forestall Alistair, so he could hear the facts first. "Your majesty…"

"Just Alistair, please Teagan. I need to be Alistair right now, not your king."

Teagan nodded in agreement and then calmly requested, "Start from the beginning, Alistair. I am sure it cannot be bad as all that."

"Shows what you know," he muttered. "Alright, after you left Alvy napped next to me for a couple of hours…"

Teagan listened attentively without comment until Alistair finished. Taking in a deep breath, he began, "Alistair, before you let these newfound emotions take you over, did you ever think of the position Alvy may have been put in? She may have been swept up in the moment, and she may have been feeling just as you were, though, maybe you can see this from her point of view?"

Alistair slowly came to the realization. In retrospect, he had always easily caught on to logic, but affairs of the heart assault his senses completely unawares when faced with them.

"I am a king, and she a mage," he said with a heavy sigh. "She is so much more Teagan, unbelievably more."

"I agree."

Alistair blinked and finally looked directly at his uncle, "You do? No, 'Alastair, this can never work. You have a responsibility to your country and its people?' No, 'You have to marry someone that gives you the best political advantages?"

Shaking his head, he thought he might laugh if not for how worried he was over Alvy. He blurted, "Not that I am thinking marriage, so don't even go there."

Teagan grinned and was entirely too amused for Alistair's comfort.

"I hate you," he said, sulkily.

"I know you do, at least right now."

**~O~**

The door slammed and the mistress strode in calling out orders. Bodahn was taken aback by her abrupt sharp voice. He'd never heard the likes from her before.

"Bodahn, I do not want to be disturbed."

"Of course, my lady," he stammered. "What should I tell anyone who may inquire?"

He watched as indecision marred her features. She waved her hand dismissively and muttered, "I ran off to join the Chantry to become a lay sister."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she turned to his boy, "Sandal, would you take on the task of Lord Trevor's daily walk?"

Excited as usual, Sandal clapped and cheered, "Puppy!"

With that, his mistress was up the stairs and turned into a room that stunned him. She entered her mother's room for the first time since her death. The only other time she had done so had been directly after the good lady's death, when the mistress had cleaned it meticulously and locked it behind her when she had finished.

Orana came out and meekly asked, "Should I bring her some tea?"

Bodahn shook his head. It was best not to approach the fires right now.

**~O~**

Three nights later, the full clique of Alvy's companions all met at the Hanged Man, save for a moody blonde mage.

All the gloomy faces were depressing Isabela. _So Hawke was in a tiff about something. Whose business was it to keep trying to force the woman out from her barricade? No one's, that's whose._

"You're all are a real downer," Isabela scolded. "Everyone needs time to stew, or think. Oh to the void with it! Whatever is going on with Hawke should not be affecting us like this."

Fenris raised a brow. "Should it not?"

Aveline huffed, "I say we storm her home and drag her out for questioning."

"Sure, Guard-Captain," Varric said, chuckling. "Who here volunteers to have lightning shot up their arse first?"

"I should ask Her Grace to…"

In unison, the others shouted, "No, Sebastian!"

"No offense, Choir-Boy," Varric said. "Hawke does not take kindly to being preached to, or receiving platitudes of encouragement. You really should know that by now."

"Question Ferelden's king," Donnic muttered.

"Excuse me," Varric asked. "And why exactly would we do that?"

All eyes were now on the guardsman, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate on his comment. "I, uh, that is she came to the keep as I was getting a patrol ready for the Wounded Coast. She and the brother were invited to have breakfast with the king and his adviser."

"And no one has seen her since," asked Isabela. "The king..." she murmured and began to pace. "That's gotta be it!"

"Vague much, Rivaini?"

"You remember what I told you Varric about those eyes," she reminded him. "Maybe, just maybe he told her, and maybe he made goo-goo eyes at her and scared her off?"

Fenris seemed frustrated; he growled at Isabela and demanded her to clarify. "What of Hawke's eyes? Unusual yes, but how could this cause her to hide for days? I do not believe even a king could rattle Hawke's cage."

"I've felt that rattle, sweet thing," Isabela saucily stated. "And trust me, handsome, even Hawke would weaken like jelly if he worked his royal talents on her."

"Whore," Aveline snarled. "Keep your tawdry nonsense to yourself."

"Donnic, why not take your wife home and put a smile on her face? I think she needs something else stuck up her…"

Aveline flew out of her chair and landed an armored left hook connecting with Isabela's jaw.

Isabela slid back and sat up, rubbing where 'Lady Manhands' decked her one. Looking up at the Guard-Captain, she smirked and asked, "Feeling better now, big girl?"

Standing up, Isabela took a final pull of her tankard of ale, "I'm going to see magic man and get my jaw healed, then I am off to see a king about a Hawke," she declared. "Anyone else coming?"

Varric stood, hefting Bianca over his shoulder, saying, "I'd not miss this for all the sovereigns in Thedas." He smirked and added, "Well, maybe a large amount anyway."

After calming his wife, Donnic added, "Isabela, the king is well guarded and his royal guard is very loyal. How do you plan to just invite yourself in?"

"Who said I was going to ask for an invitation, sweetness?" she said, and winked. "Besides, I'm sure you and big girl there would rather not know any details."

Isabela turned to a very quiet elf. "Coming kitten?"

"I heard he is a Templar, or was a Templar, or maybe it was an almost Templar," Merrill babbled. "Maybe he smote her!"

"Oh, Kitten. The king is not a Templar, not really anyway," she teased. "Come on, it'll do you good to have a little adventure."

"If you're sure we won't end up in Aveline's dungeon," Merrill said, and then looked over at the Guard-Captain innocently, "then okay."

**~O~**

Bodahn looked down at the tray in Orana's hand; he nodded, and then murmured, "At least the mistress is eating, if only a little."

Orana looked to the untouched strawberry tart on the tray; she sniffled and said, "The mistress loves my tarts. I made them especially for her."

"Don't you worry messere Orana, the mistress knows we care," he explained worriedly. "I'm sure she'll be up and about in no time."

**~O~**

"So's, you gonna lollygag and be moping around the rest of yer time here or what?"

"Oghren, don't you have a rose to bloom, or something," Alistair asked bemused. "If I pay you extra, will you go away?"

"No doin' majesty, I take my post seriously," the dwarf stated, waggling his bushy brows. "Besides, that there Teagan, done already paid me to bloom some roses, if ya know what I mean."

"Wonderful," Alistair shook his head. "I'll be in my bedroom."

Oghren shrugged and returned to his post.

**~O~**

"A dwarf, a blood-mage, and a pirate walk into Hightown after dark. The dwarf says…"

Varric was interrupted by a chirpy elven voice, "I am not a practicing blood mage anymore. Hawke would kill me if she found even a scratch on me now. I promised her, Varric!"

"Calm down. Daisy, "he soothed. "It was just a joke, maybe not one of my better ones."

"Not even close, Varric," the pirate teased. "I think you need to start spending time with a real woman, and not just that crossbow of yours."

"Rivaini, how many times do I have to say it? I'm taken."

Isabela dramatically sighed, "Shot down again, my pride wounded and denied the chest hair once more."

Varric snorted. "Where is this pride you have? You've been hiding it in a buried treasure chest?"

"Oh, Isabela… You never told me you had a treasure chest," Merrill said in awe. "Is there a pirate map too?"

"Sure, kitten," the pirate smirked. "There is a map to my broken heart because Varric denies me."

"Varric isn't greedy," Merrill said thoughtfully. "Not for a dwarf."

Isabela burst into laughter, "Oh kitten, and I love you most of all."

"Nice, Daisy," Varric grumbled. "Very nice."

"Come on you two," Isabela said to her cohorts. "We need to catch us a king."

**~O~**

While he lay in the dark on his bed alone with his thoughts, it was the last place he wanted to be. The alternative was to be entertained by Oghren. As much as he respected the dwarf, only small doses of his company could be appreciated at any given time.

Alistair sent Teagan on to Ferelden. At first, the arl argued vehemently with him about appointments, nobles, land agreements and the like. When the king explained his idea and asked that Teagan, along with Aedan Cousland, to put their heads together and find any loophole regarding Alvy's status, Teagan nearly bolted out of the door without packing.

_Teagan thinks he knows, but I know what he doesn't know, or does he? Andraste's arse, I sometimes hate that man._

Before his uncle's departure, Alistair had suffered cunning grins and little remarks about his feelings for a certain woman. He emphatically reminded his uncle that he only knew Alvy for few days and to stop being ridiculous. To make his point, he reminded Teagan of a certain kiss that sent the woman running.

All of his disconnected thoughts were floating around in his mind; Alistair took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had hoped sleep would make things more clear in the morning.

The slow drift between being awake and fully sleeping settled in when he felt a shift on the bed. A warm body pressed up against him, "Nice bed, does it squeak when you bounce on it?"

The voice was undeniably familiar. Alistair turned his head toward the voice and squinted in the darkened room, "Isabela," he addressed. "Funny thing, did you know it is considered high treason to break in and enter a king's bedroom?"

The pirate chuckled, "I'm not here to assassinate you, your majesty. I'm here to king-nap you."

"Yes, because that would be a fractionally lesser crime," he said, rolling his eyes in the dark. "Isabela, why are you here in my room and on my bed?"

The pirate purred like a predatory cat, "Hey, fair is fair. I let you into my bed without calling you a criminal."

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable and at a disadvantage, Alistair quickly slid off the bed and armed himself with his robe and slippers. Once decently covered, he raised the wick on the oil lamp and turned back to the woman now lazed languidly over his sheets, "Explain your reason for being here, or leave."

"What, no reminiscence of old times, and all the slaps and tickles," she crooned.

Alistair glared at the pirate.

"Fine, fine," she relented. "You were more fun as a Grey Warden. That crown has made you a bore."

Alistair scoffed, "Sorry to disappoint. Get to the point, Isabela."

She shrugged. "It's simple," she stated, as she slinked off his bed and began to circle him. "Hawke has been holed up going on four days now, and I think you caused it."

Alistair was beyond stunned. He knew Alvy ignored his missives and never replied to another invitation. All he wanted was to apologize and share with her his findings about her status as a noble and being a free mage. That may not be entirely true, but he was not quite ready to admit more to himself and certainly not to Isabela.

"No one has seen her?" he asked "What of her brother?"

"Carver? He came by and said his farewells. He was being transferred to a new post. Amaranthine, at least I think that is what he said." The pirate waved her hand in the air flippantly. "He wouldn't tell us why Hawke was being a shut-in, only that she needed time to herself."

The pirate stopped her circling and faced Alistair, toe to toe, "The eyes. Creepy, huh?"

Alistair's head snapped at that comment. His glare met hers, all fury and blaze poured out of him, "I am not some wide-eyed fool, Isabela, nor am I an idiot."

This time, he circled the doe eyed pirate. "You don't think Alvy's eyes shocked me? Of course they did, though - do not assume I cannot discern between the two women. She deserves more than that."

Isabela snorted, "I know she does, and I had to make sure you did as well." With her index finger, the pirate poked him, centered over his heart, "We would and have followed that woman into the void and back. She has done so much…"

Alistair took a small step back and swept the pirate's hand into his own, "I'm sorry. They are alike," he confessed. "But at the same time, they are very different women. I see that Isabela, as clearly as I can see your devotion to her."

"Yeah, well," she rounded her shoulders, pulling her hand back, folding both arms over her chest, "Fix this."

"How?"

Isabela smirked, "Like I fix anything, gorgeous." Giving the king her trademark wink, she added, "We sneak in."

**~O~**

**AN**/ Thank you all, who read - review - add to favorites- alerts - or just stop by. You all fuel my eagerness to continue and I hope you are all having as much fun reading this, as I am writing it!

**I know** - what a cliffhanger. I take all the blame. The next chapter has a lot going on and I needed a worthy set-up for it.

**Bodacious Betas!** Never ending thanks for all of your help! **Piceron, Erynnar, and Ladyamesindy**. All three of these ladies have amazing stories to devourer up!

**BioWare Owns.**


	11. Teamwork

**Chapter Eleven - Teamwork**

Isabela walked back over to the window she previously slipped through into the king's bedroom. Bending over the sill, she hoisted a sack from the ledge outside pulling it in and tossing it over to the king. "Put these on."

Alistair peered down at the bag and looked back to the pirate dubiously, "There had better not be a dress in there."

Isabela grinned as the images played in her mind, "Are you sure? It could be loads of fun, at least for me."

Watching the king's skin turn from a sun kissed tan to rosy pink caused her to involuntarily lick her bottom lip, "Don't tease a girl, or I may risk high treason and tie you to that bed."

"I'd rather wear a dress."

"Your loss," she shrugged. "Stop being so suspicious and put that armor on. They're leathers from the Kirkwall archer guard."

"How did you…"

Isabela sniffed, "How do I do anything, sweetness?" She pointed to herself. "Hello – pirate."

"Of course. Why did I bother to ask?" Alistair pointed toward the door, signaling for some privacy to change. "And while you're in the other room, behave yourself."

"Aw, so shy," she toyed. "I've already seen all your… kingly assets"

"Now, Isabela."

"Spoilsport," she countered and sauntered out of the room, leaving the king to armor his royal charms.

Making her way down the hall and into the main room, Isabela scoped out the space for anything of interest to pass the time away.

After spying a bottle of wine and some glasses, she poured her fill and settled onto the sofa. Looking over at the side table, she pulled a large leather tome onto her lap and flipped through the pages with disinterest. "A big musty book. This king really knows how to live it up," she said to herself smirking. "Yep, becoming a king just sucks all the fun out of a man."

Within the tome, Isabela found a loosely folded and wax sealed parchment bookmarked between yellowing pages. "Oh, what's this? His royal yumminess has been busy." Nonchalantly, she grazed her fingernail over the wax seal, "Oops, would you look at that."

**~x~**

_**Titles and Entitlements:**_

_**Petitioner: King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden**_

_**Petitioner: Arl Teagan Guerrin**_

_**King Alistair Theirin - Patron of: Alvy Hawke**_

_The Petitioners hereby request that:_

_After a thorough and complete examination of official genealogical records, Alvy Hawke, Daughter of Lady Leandra Amell, and Granddaughter of Lord Aristide Amell of Kirkwall, be granted title of noble with all equivalent rank, privilege and consideration as is due._

_By Decree of the late Viscount Marlowe Dumar of Kirkwall and as witnessed by Seneschal Bran: The Amell estate tax arrears were accepted in full payment and by the seal of the Viscount, deemed and declared the lawful property of Alvy Hawke._

_By Decree of the late Viscount Marlowe Dumar of Kirkwall and as witnessed by Seneschal Bran: Full restoration of Lady Leandra Amell to former status has been granted and all entitlements and privileges therewith, to be claimed by her rightful heirs upon her death. All documents have been duly signed, sealed, and filed by the Viscount's office._

_By decree of Knight-Commander Meredith: Alvy Hawke has been entitled Champion of Kirkwall for services above and beyond the call rendered to the citizenry of Kirkwall in time of dire need, and has thus been deemed 'free mage' and is a citizen by lawful means._

_Let It Be Known: Lady Alvy Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, legally and by means of status and merit both owns property and holds noble title as an unrestricted resident of Kirkwall._

_The Chantry says, No mage may hold a title, own property, or inherit said title or property. The citizenry and government of Kirkwall, and with full support, approval and agreement of the Templar order and thus with Chantry approval, all members full in Chantry observance and standing, have seen fit to prove otherwise for a native daughter of Ferelden. Therefore, from this point forth, all prior Chantry rulings regarding said issue have been rendered negated._

_The Petitioners therefore humbly request that the same recognition of status be granted to Lady Alvy Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, daughter of Ferelden, by her own countrymen._

**~x~**

"You've never struck me as the literary type."

Isabela startled at hearing the king's voice. "I strike in all directions, your kingliness," she quipped, recovering herself. Pushing the book off to the side, she added, "So… patron is it? You have some masterful plan maybe you'd like to share?"

"With you?" The king walked toward her, bent low and tried to swipe the letter, but not before Isabela pulled it back out of his grasp. Holding out his hand, he said, "If you read it, I doubt I need to explain."

"Here," she said while shoving the letter into the king's hand. "Just so you know, you are not only going to help fix this, you are going to come clean with Hawke." Standing up, she added with challenge in her voice, "All of it."

Isabela planted her feet and waited until the king nodded his agreement, followed by her instructions, "Do exactly as I say, and follow my footsteps precisely."

"What about Dog?" Alistair pointed to the sleeping mound on the rug. "He'll just follow anyway."

Isabela shrugged, "He's likely more stealthy than you," she smirked. "Maybe he'll be of use."

**~O~**

Merrill and Varric had gathered the listed items given to them by Isabela, and were now waiting on the pirate to show up with her bounty: One king and whatever else the crazy woman had planned. Varric was too far out the loop on this one for his own comfort. Learn as you go, never ended well.

"Varric, why must I carry the soggy sack of bones?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Because you have no sense of direction Daisy and I needed to navigate."

"But-," the elf stuttered. "You already knew your way to Hawke's house."

"I've never been to this side of the house," he explained, hoping to misdirect her questioning. "Look over that wall Daisy - you'll see the new flowers in Hawke's garden."

"It's too dark," she pouted. "Can we come back in the daylight?"

"I'm sure Hawke would be pleased to let you frolic in her garden whenever you wished." He grinned, happy with her bouncing attention span. "I would ask first, though, so she can warn the neighbors."

Varric was about to walk the perimeter of the house when he was tapped on the shoulder and jumped back, "Rivaini. How many times have I told you not to sneak up on a man like that!" Taking in a few deep breaths, he calmly stroked his crossbow. "Bianca is twitchy now."

"The way you fondle that crossbow," Alistair mock shuddered. "A little creepy that."

"Don't listen to the big mean king, Bianca," Varric assured his bow. "I'm sure he polishes his steel every chance he gets."

"Right…," said the king. "More creepy."

"Either we get a move on, or you two can start polishing and fondling alone in the dark... together," she grinned wickedly and added. "Man to man."

Varric snorted and fired back, "As if you would leave us alone, Isabela."

"True," she agreed. "So either you two show me yours, and if I'm entertained enough, I'll show you mine." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. "Or we can save that for later and get this mess with Hawke taken care of, hmm?"

The other three watched as Merrill climbed up the half wall and perched herself atop the flat surface of cut stone. Looking back down, she called out, "Lord Trevor is laying by the atrium doors."

"Whisper his name, Merrill," Isabela instructed. "That blimey creature knows how to get those doors open."

"He can be rather smart," the elf decided. "Until he drops everything to lick his own… well, never mind that."

Isabela sighed. "Kitten…"

"Right." The elf placed a hand on either side of her mouth and whispered loudly. "Here boy, I have a soggy sack for you…"

Varric shook his head. "A soggy sack?"

"Not very appetizing, is it?" the little mage corrected. "Lord Trevor, I have soup bones!"

Isabela was about to instruct what a whisper was until she realized Merrill was reaching into the sack for a bone. Lord Trevor gave the elf a happy huff and took the proffered feast greedily.

"Let's move men," Isabela said while waving each of the men to climb ahead of her. "I like going last. The view is exquisite."

Ignoring the pirate's comment, Alistair paused before jumping up over the wall, "What about Dog? I don't think he can jump this high."

Isabela was about to have Dog wait at the front door when she watched the king get down on all fours while Dog used Alistair's back as a catalyst to make a double jump over the wall.

"Now that was just brilliant," Varric praised. "That's what I call teamwork."

Once over the wall, Lord Trevor demanded a proper sniff of everyone. He circled each person slowly, inhaling their scent.

"Woah, down boy." The king backed away after getting his crotch slobbered on. "Sniffing is fine. I draw a line with the drooling."

Varric and Alistair both immediately turned to Isabela. "What? I wasn't going to… Okay, I was." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Bores. The both of you."

When Lord Trevor finished with the last, he waggled his nubby tail and went back to his newly gifted bone.

Alistair sent Dog over to Lord Trevor and turned to the elf, "Merrill, would you give Dog one of those bones as well?"

Dog took his bounty and the two hounds shared a patch of clover and gnawed on their treats.

"I'm going to scout ahead and see who may be awake," Isabela said, pointing up at a window ledge. "Kitten, you standby on the other side of the trellis – Varric, keep big boy here out of sight and quiet." She grinned up at the king. "You can't even tiptoe quietly."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Sorry for not being a sneaky rogue. Still possibly facing high treason when we're done here."

Isabela waved her hand dismissively and agilely scaled the flower strewn trellis. Once she reached the ledge, she backed herself against the wall and sidestepped her way across until she reached her targeted window. She paused in the shadows of an alcove arching over the window and pulled a lock pick from her headscarf. Nearly soundless, Isabela felt the lock release and she lifted the frame and slid into Hawke's house.

The lighting in the hall was dim thanks to a low burning wall lamp, perfect for slipping into the shadows if she needed to find cover. Isabela made her way into the library and slinked over to the door entering into the main room. "Phew," she whispered to herself. "This couldn't possibly be so easy. Mr. Broody was right - I'm going to have to talk to Hawke about her poor security."

The oil lamp on the desk was low and the fireplace was barely embers. Isabela weaved herself along the wall, keeping to the shadows. Bodahn was nowhere to be seen, nor was his son. Continuing on, she made her way to the servants' quarters near the kitchen. Isabela stopped before the doorway and heard Orana milling about on the other side. Sliding her back up against the wall, she peered in to see the woman wiping her hands on a towel and then walked around the room to dim the lamps. The pirate waited until the servant retired into her room.

Making her way back through the library, she opened the double orlesian glass doors and waved her hand, signaling for the other three to join her. Much to her chagrin, Lord Trevor and Dog plucked up their bones and followed the others in as well.

Turning her gaze back on the king, she ordered, "Your majesty," pointing to his boots, "take those off and set them near the door."

Alistair looked from the pirate and back down to his boots. "Pardon?"

"Unless Varric performed some divine miracle out there and taught you how to tiptoe quietly…"

Alistair glared at the rogue. "High treason, Isabela," he growled. "I assume you like that head of yours."

"Phss," she hissed. "And I assume you want something a little more than my head."

Varric shifted Bianca comfortably at his back. "And I assume we are all going to get caught if you two don't move your arses, now."

Lord Trevor's head was swinging from one person to another as they bantered. He let out a soft whine and all four of them chuckled at the sight. Hanging out from both sides of his jaw; the mabari had his bone wedged in his mouth as he watched them arguing.

Alistair lowered his hand on the hound's head and scratched behind his ears. "Come on boy - let's go see your mistress." Patting his leg, he called over to Dog, "Come on, you too."

Isabela smirked when the king took off his boots and left them by a bookshelf. She watched both mabari taking turns sniffing them. He glared up at her and she thought it best to leave this one alone.

On the landing atop the stairs, Isabela whispered, "Stay here, just in case she's not decent. She's touchy about the silliest things."

"Not even going there, Rivaini," Varric teased. "We'll be here, waiting on decency."

That earned him a hip bump on his arm as Isabela made her way to Hawke's bedroom door.

When Isabela came to Alvy's bedroom door, she realized it was not latched shut and took the opportunity to crack it open and peered in. Isabela felt the cool air rush out of the room and over her skin. She slid through the smallest opening she could manage into the darkened space. Scanning the area, she noticed the fireplace had not been used in a while and the bed was made. Turning back towards the door, she made her way back to the others.

Isabela huddled in with her cohorts, and whispered, "She's not in there."

"Then where…" Varric started, paused, and then nodded towards the late Lady Leandra's room. "You don't think?"

Isabela shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

The door was locked and Isabela motioned for them to stay put. She reached up and pulled a lock pick from her headscarf and started quietly to work on the lock. Just as the pirate heard the first clicks of the lock releasing, the door swiftly swung open and Isabela was sent hurtling backwards and was flung to the far wall, nearly slamming into the large picture window.

Alvy stood in the doorway leering down at her pirate friend. "Truly Isabela? Ever try knocking?"

Isabela staggered back to standing upright and brushed off the imaginary dust from her clothing. "Yes. Well. If a certain shut-in would have answered her messages or would greet her friends when they came to see her, then maybe I wouldn't have had to break in."

Varric chuckled. "Yes, you would've."

"Not helping, dwarf."

Varric shrugged. "Wasn't trying too."

**~O~**

Waiting quietly for the turbulence between Alvy and the pirate to calm, Alistair coyly watched Alvy. He realized she was not only a spirit healer; she was also a force mage. And what a force she was. The spell did not even trigger his Templar senses when she conjured and cast the telekinetic burst on Isabela. What baffled him most was the fact she could concentrate the spell so singularly. It was as if she was able to direct it to a single target, and not an area effect he knew it to be. Alistair filed that away and would ask her about it later, if she allowed a later after this fiasco.

His attention was brought back when Alvy coolly demanded an explanation for the four of them breaking into her home.

She squared her shoulders and laced her fingers together in front of her. "Isabela, I am not even remotely shocked by your actions, but," she looked over to the dwarf. "Truly, Varric? Since when can Isabela talk you into such tomfooleries?

"Never. Not usually anyway. Although, this time I'd say we all had a good excuse." He sighed. "Look Hawke, realistically, how long do you think you could keep away without us coming to find out what was going on?"

The elf hiding behind Alistair peeked out and asked, "Who's Tom?"

Alistair blinked. "Tom who?"

"I already asked that," she corrected and put her tiny hands on her hips. "Shouldn't a king pay better attention?"

"Yes…" Alvy chimed in, interrupting the elf's bizarre questioning. "Tell me, your majesty, do you do this for fun in your spare time, or are you considering a career change?"

"Isabela claims I'd be terrible at it, so no," he said with a grin. He figured at this point, awkward charm was his only weapon in this scenario. "As for the fun part, I feel the adventure brochure was misleading."

The pirate laughed. "Maybe you've not lost all your fun bits since becoming king."

"Isabela," the elf looked at the pirate with a puzzled expression, "is this the king you talked about having a men—a, something, oh Creators! I can never say those words correctly."

"Ménage à trois, Kitten?"

Alistair coughed, choking back his shock and feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Making matters worse, Alvy's eyes were boring into him, and the look on her face was somewhere between horror and hilarity.

"Ha, that was fun," Isabela said, highly amused with the turn in the conversation. "Kitten, we need to have some private time and talk about not saying everything that pretty little head thinks up."

Alistair watched the elf sulk. "I suppose this is one of those times," she murmured.

Isabela turned her attention back to Hawke, the pirate announced, "Now that you've tossed me across your house and we know you are alive, here." Isabela shoved a parchment into Hawke's hand.

Alistair was ready to run the pirate through. How in the bloody void did she manage to lift the document off him?

"Good to know you're still kicking, Hawke," the dwarf muttered. "Come see me soon. I've got some matters I'd like your help with."

The elf who could not manage to edit her thoughts walked up to Alvy and patted her hand. "Don't be angry with Isabela, Hawke. She means well, in her own way."

"Merrill. Varric. I believe this is where we all go to the Hanged Man." Isabela pulled a deep purple cloth coin purse from her belt and tossed it in the air. "Drinks are on his majesty."

Alistair reflexively caught the coin purse midair and tucked it into the borrowed leather leggings. "High Treason, Isabela."

"Huh, so you can move quickly," the pirate mused while nodding appreciatively. "I still say that crown made you boring."

Alistair filed in line with the departing trio until a hand pressed onto his chest and pushed him back. "Oh no, big boy, you've got to fix this," Isabela told him, as she pointed over to Alvy. "My work here is done."

Alistair stood and watched the others leave, save for the two hounds and their heads swaying back and forth between him and Alvy.

Looking up and into those eyes, Alistair murmured. "I want to stay and talk, Alvy, but if you want me to leave, I'll respect your wishes."

Alistair waited, never breaking his gaze with Alvy's. His insides were shattering as if his rattled nerves had turned to glass.

Alvy held up the pickpocketed parchment and said, "I suppose we start with this. Isabela's methods are always questionable, but her intent is pure." Her lips quirked up into a sly grin. "Well, mostly."

_This was going to be a long night_, Alistair thought to himself.

**~O~**

**AN/ **It's been over a week since the last chapter, yes? I took a little breather to play the Mass Effect 3 new endings. I had four characters awaiting the finish line!

**Thank you all** for reading and reviewing. Those who are reviewing as guest, thank you as well. I am unable to send thanks personally. You are all so amazingly supportive.

**Special thanks** to all those who carefully look over my writing, and I do the same for them. Cereal-Killer, Erynnar, Piceron, and Ladyamesindy. We tag team each other's writing. What a great circle of friends I have!

**Ladyamesindy. **Thank you for shining up and assisting with all that legal jargon and making it all official looking!


	12. Tea for Two

**Tea for Two**

Alistair had been left to puzzle out a problem, uncertain that he would be able to fashion all of the pieces into place. Solona had said Alvy was special, _'More than she realizes'_. Maker help him, _what was he to do with that information?_

He imagined that conversation, _Hi there, my dead lover, your cousin? Yes, well, she came to me in the Fade and said you're special. Care to elaborate on that?_

"Riiight, that doesn't sound crazy in the least…" Alistair muttered under his breath as he made his way down to the kitchen. Alvy had asked him to meet her there while she dressed in something more appropriate, other than her bedclothes.

After a few wrong turns, he found the kitchen. There was a small table with four chairs. He pulled out a chair, but replaced it, deciding to wait for her to join him before he sat.

Several long minutes passed while he paced, his anxiety making him wander the kitchen. He peeked into cabinets, tinkering with the various items left on the countertops, and, finally came to the still-warm stove. Lifting the burner lid, he saw the fire was down to mere embers, but was still hot enough to make a pot of tea.

Returning to the cabinets, he searched for the kettle. He heard a soft laugh from behind him and pivoted on his heel. It was Alvy.

"Is there a source for your amusement, my lady?" he asked. He watched as she covered her mouth, hiding her grin.

Her giggles stifled, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes flickered like a freshly lit candle. "I have a king pilfering my kitchen," she teased. "I promise, Your Majesty, we really _did_ clear out all of the skeletons."

Alistair looked around the room once more, scanning all of the surfaces, "And the tea kettle, it seems."

She said nothing, but pointed a elegant finger behind him. He followed her line of sight and there it was, the missing kettle, atop an iron grid shelf above the stove, and out in the open, no less.

"I'm sure you magicked it to appear there, for your own entertainment."

"Of course I did," she replied, and grinning, she walked over to the kettle, pulled it from the shelf and carried it over to the water pump, filling it up.

Alistair sniffed huffily, "I was planning on making us tea."

"Do you make your own tea at the palace?" Alvy asked. "I've never heard of a king knowing his way around a kitchen."

Alistair chuckled, bemused. "I likely know how to wash pots as well as any of my staff."

A flash of memory came to him. - the Revered Mother sending him to the kitchens as a punishment. He scrubbed pots, pans, and dishes until his hands cracked from the harsh soaps. Alistair was inwardly amused. Little did the Mother or the chantry sisters know, he liked being stuck in the kitchens, rather than in benediction. Blessings were for those who never really needed them.

Alvy gently cleared her throat, pulling him from his reverie.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered, and shook his head. "Thinking about the good ole days when I was being raised by the chantry."

"Fond memories?"

He watched as she transferred the hot water to a ceramic teapot and placed it on a tray with two cups, honey, and cream. She was a proper Fereldan that knew how to serve a good tea. "Not so much," he answered while gesturing he would carry the tray to the table.

She accepted his offer, but taking the tray nearly cost him his chance to pull out her chair. He hurried forward and put down the tray, grasping the back of the chair. She stopped and looked down at the offered seat.

He chuckled. "The chair is harmless."

She blushed. "I…thank you"

Alistair thought to ask if no man had ever pulled a chair out for her. Rather than ruin the gesture, he left it alone and sat opposite of her. Taking both cups off the tray, he carefully poured the hot liquid for each of them. "Would you like to add your own cream and honey? I am an embarrassment with my abuse of honey."

Accepting her cup, she added a splash of cream and a spoonful of honey. While stirring, she glanced up at him.

"Hmm, how _does _one abuse honey, exactly?" she asked as she tapped the spoon on the side of the cup and laid it on the tray.

Alistair grabbed the honey jar and began to pour it into his tea, "Two parts honey, one part tea, with a smidge of cream."

The corner of her mouth quirked. "Isn't that dreadfully sweet?"

"Delectable, delicious, but not dreadful," he mused. "After cheese, it is my one weakness."

"That would be two weaknesses."

"So it is," he grinned."I likely have a few more, weaknesses that is, but who's counting?"

An awkward silence fell between them, and between fiddling with their teacups and nonchalant sips, Alistair was fidgeting in his chair. He could feel her eyes on him, and raising his head to look at her was an effort. Like there was a weight pressing down on him, hindering his ability to face her.

"So…" he began, and paused. Slowly, or so it felt, he looked into her eyes and found himself sinking into her gaze. "I guess this is where I need to start talking?"

"Unless you can read the tea leaves, and entertain me with a prediction of my future?" Alvy raised her cup up, and pretended to offer it to him. "If not, then talking would be good too."

Alistair couldn't pass up the chance for a little misdirection and grabbed her teacup from her. He swirled around the small droplets of liquid at the bottom of her cup and peered into it.

"I see…oh my, you have a bright future ahead of you, my lady. One filled with fortune and fame." Alistair stole a glance up at her, pleased to find her beaming at him, and then peered back down into the cup, "But wait! You will be coming to a crossroads in your life. The outcome is unclear and I suspect your decisions will affect the path laid out before you."

Her soft snort pulled him away from his mock precognition.

"I am already somewhat famous and fairly wealthy," she stated. Grabbing her cup back from his hands, she peered into it. "As for decisions that will determine my future, well, that would be the case for anyone, don't you think? You're a better king than fortune teller, ser.

"You wound me," he said, clutching his hand over his heart. "I am a smashing success at all the best parties! Why, I even predicted that one of my banns would have twins within the year. I just didn't realize it would be her mabari to be the one to have them…"

That got her. Peals of laughter filled the room and Alistair found it infectious, his own joining hers.

Once he caught his breath, Alistair sat his cup down and folded his hands together on the table; a long-time practice of his since becoming king.

Arl Eamon had often scolded him for his overly 'animated' hands whenever he spoke. It was something Alistair had never before found rude or impolite, but as a newly crowned king, he knew little of proper protocol.

"That document Isabela handed you," he began. "I suppose an explanation is in order."

Her hand vanished into the thick folds of her oversized tunic - where there must have been an inside pocket - and she withdrew the parchment.

Alistair had to clear his mind of the small action; it was oddly sexy. "That cannot be your tunic, it swallows you whole."

He watched as she appreciatively smoothed down the length of her shirt.

"It was my father's. My sister, Bethany had stuffed it into her pack before we ran from Lothering." Her fingers played with a tear in the material."It is ratty and near threadbare, though, I cannot seem to let it go."

"I'm sorry for all the loss you've suffered, Alvy. You're truly made of strong stuff to have endured what you have and come through with your spirit intact."

"You think me so intact, do you?" She huffed. "There is not a day that goes by that I am not laden with guilt over my sister, my mother, and Carver."

That took him aback.

Why would she she feel guilt over her brother, or any of her family for that matter? Carver seemed a happy enough sort, if not a bit of a show off. Yes, he was a Grey Warden, and he knew what sacrifices _that_ meant, but her guilt made no sense to him.

"I don't understand," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "Why do you carry the burden of guilt so heavily?"

Alvy sighed and returned to fiddling with her teacup. He waited for her to say something, anything, and wondered if he overstepped with his inquiry.

"I apologize if I stuck my nose where it does not belong. It's just that…well, I want to know you better, and, seeing the pain on your eyes is unsettling and difficult to bear."

"You hardly know me. Why would my pain affect you?" She placed her cup back down on the table."You are a very strange man."

Alistair's lopsided grin shone through. How he wanted to heal her troubled heart and bring her smile back."That seems to be a popular consensus," he agreed.

It was a small thing - the quirk at the corner of her mouth - but it thrilled him to see even that much.

"Maybe someday I'll explain," she offered. "I hope that can be enough for now."

"It is and I am not one to push, well, I can at times, but I have the good sense to know when not too."

Her smile widened and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"I feel that maybe we should find our way back to the topic." She pushed the parchment to the center of the table. "Isabela has a true heart. You have to dig deeply under all the superficial crust and barnacles to find it, but it is there."

"Yes, the pirate with a heart of gold," he grumbled. "I think she has taken a personal quest in making my life problematic."

"Well…you know her in ways I myself, never will," she teased. "It seems you have survived the pirate siege well enough."

"Very funny," Alistair pouted. "Just so you know, I was coerced into that little excursion! Your cousin…" He trailed off and felt like an utter dolt. "I'm sorry, that was uncouth of me to bring up."

"My cousin…what?" She grinned wickedly. "Please, _do _tell, your majesty. I am terribly curious about the Hero of the Fifth Blight and my kin I never knew."

Alistair sighed, this was a road he wasn't sure he even wanted to venture down. "I can tell you this much: wicked women must run in your family." He winked. "I think I'd rather get back to that document now."

"As you wish, my king."

"Wicked," he groused. "Anyway, the document. It's an idea, mostly, but one with a great deal of thought and careful planning."

"You plan for me to be whisked away from Kirkwall and back to Ferelden?"

"_Could _you be whisked away?" His question was light hearted, but also held serious curiosity.

She gazed at him queerly, and he resisted the urge to spout another witty retort to his own lame question. Calmly, he sat, waiting for her to speak as she picked up her spoon and twirled it nimbly between her fingers.

"No." she said flatly, and before he could comment on her short but firm answer, she held up her hand in supplication. "Although Ferelden will always be my home, Kirkwall is where I live. More than that, it is also where a family has been formed. Not by natural relations of course, but by the shedding of blood, sweat, and tears." Relinquishing the spoon to the table, Alvy spanned her hands out into the air. "Between Meredith, and the city itself, I could not leave without knowing the people here would be safe."

"I believe," Alistair started, "you have been put into many compromising positions in this city, for the gain of others." It was not a new revelation; this belief was shared by her companions as well. "Even your friend Varric feels you have been a pawn time and time again."

"True," she admitted. "Though, it does not change the fact, the citizens need protecting. I knew I was being pulled in several directions, and used by those who would easily see me dead, rather than have me as an ally."

She paused and he waited expectantly.

She finally sighed and continued. "Look, I could have denied many of those that came looking for my aid, or those that set me up, using my cause to their advantage. In the end, what does it matter? I will do what I feel is right regardless and take responsibility for my own actions."

Alistair watched her hands slide back down to the warn holes in her father's shirt. Her silence had him wishing he possessed all the correct things to say to her.

"And…" she started and it hung in the air.

"And what?" Alistair felt it terribly inept of him but he had nothing else to interject with.

"And, I have to see this through, whatever it is. I know things will come to blows with all the tension mounting in this city."

Alistair thought about that for a moment. Was she right to see this through? Was this her duty as the city's champion? If he were honest with himself, yes, she was doing the right thing.

But, at what cost to her?

"I would not see you hurt in all this. I will help in any way I am able," he offered, before continuing in a light hearted voice, "I hear I have a lot of influence and can muster up loyalty with my charm and persuasive abilities."

"I fear you may lose popularity if you get involved with this mess," she said, shaking her head. "Besides that, you could end up in Meredith's kitchens after all is said and done."

Alistair snorted. "Maybe she will end up in mine. We can use her tiara as a cake topper for parties."

"We?"

"Yes well, a man can dream, can't he?" Alistair's voice wavered. "I… would not be opposed to exploring that…"

"Kiss we shared?"

"At least you feel we shared it. I thought I imagined the entire thing!" He laughed nervously. "I am truly sorry if I took liberties with you. I've never been very good at understanding women."

"You didn't misread my feelings. I just…I cannot understand your intentions. I am a mage, an apostate mage at that. What could you possibly have to gain from that? A night of fun and thrills?"

Shock slid through his stomach as her words sank in. He sucked in a sharp breath as fury, pain, and hurt all rushed to the surface. Was that what she _really_ thought? And to accuse him of...how dare she!

He took several slow breaths before he said anything he would surely regret. His silence was condemning and he watched her squirm in her seat, a perverse satisfaction filling him. _Good_, he thought to himself. It was petty, yes, but he wasn't particularly enjoying the sting of those words.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he asked, incredulous. "That was a low blow, and I've had many over the years. No one, not a_ single_ person has ever accused me of being so crass! I would never…" he paused and looked down at his own balled up fist. "Never in my life would I treat a woman with such disregard or disrespect."

Her tone was timid this time, "I am truly sorry," she pleaded. "Can you see things from my point, Alistair?"

Again, she'd used his given name, as she had days ago, and even hurt, it sounded so sweet coming from her.

"In my position, how else am I to see the world? I never understood fear of magic other than keeping away from Templars until I was forced to live here. I've seen things… Things that could make the fiercest warrior piss his own trousers. I have literally vomited on more than one occasion after witnessing the atrocities here."

He could understand. Alistair truly recognized her position and saw how she could misconstrue his feelings for her. As much as he didn't like it, and no matter how earnest he was, Alvy lived in a different world, a world that saw her as potential danger.

"Why didn't you understand the dangers of magic?" he asked, his voice lifting with curiosity. With a father that was once a circle mage as her teacher, surely he would have taught her of all the dangers that she would face in life.

"It was not the danger of a spell gone awry or misuse of magic that I did not understand, it was a mage abusing their powers that I was unable to comprehend."

She stood up and asked Alistair to follow her.

The pair made their way into the sitting room and Alvy grabbed her staff from over the fireplace. "This," she displayed to him. "This is a tool, nothing more and I never knew it to be more." She put the staff back and offered him a seat before taking the one next to him.

"My father taught me, and he went as far as to explore my and Bethany's own individual talents so he could better train us. It was drilled into us from the start, magic is to serve and _not_ be abused. We are not to use it for personal gain, and were taught that our Maker given gift was to be respected."

"It sounds like you had an amazing father."

She smiled warmly."I did. He never made us feel cursed, though, he sheltered us from the outside world too much. He also never let either of us forget that most would never see us as normal. Bethany and I made a pact that one day we would change the hearts of men and women alike, and show them we were good people."

"I believe you have made a good start already."

"Thank you," she accepted his compliment with a genuine smile."In the grand scheme of things, a handful in one city is but a small start. With all that has happened here, I am fighting a losing battle."

Alistair regarded her and all that she said."I disagree."

"With what exactly?"

"You are not fighting a losing battle," he assured her. "Once you feel things are safer here, I'd like to invite you to Ferelden as my guest. I will go on my annual country wide tour as I have every year since my coronation. I have much I'd like to show you. All the changes that I have made, not only in honor of Solona, but my own beliefs on how things can work between the magi and the rest of the world."

"I've heard things and wondered what to be true or sensationalized."

"If you heard I have the best hair in Thedas, that one is true," Alistair swiped his hand through his golden locks.

"Oh, I had heard that one, but you may have Varric disagreeing. Although, can chest hair compare in such a competition for best hair?"

"Absolutely not!" Alistair's mock gasp had her laughing again. "That man needs a shirt"

"A good gift idea for his name-day. I'd have to find out when that is exactly." Alvy laughed some more. "Varric is quite protective over his age. I never really understood the secrecy."

Her eyes lit up with laughter and Alistair was positive there was nothing in the world he found more beautiful. The last thing he wanted was to break the spell, but there was still things they needed to discuss. "Alvy."

Her giggles slowed and she looked straight into his eyes,

"Yes?"

Alistair shifted the chair so he could face her properly and cupped her small hands within his own. "I…" His voice felt forced and wavered with a gravelly tenor. "Look, the last thing I want is to scare you away and I certainly don't want you to think that my feelings are anything less than honorable. I'm not one to play with anyone's emotions like that - yours or my own." Curling his fingers into her hand, he gently squeezed. "I will not force my presence on you without your consent. I just want to get to know you a little better. But I will ask one thing of you.

"Which is?"

Alistair kissed her wrist and laid her hand back down on her lap."Do you want to know me better? I want more than a single night with you, a fling, or mistress to fill my time. Is that something you might consider?"

Forever passed by and he could feel his hands sweating and slick between their skin. He was stunned when Alvy pulled her hands out from his but he remained calm and closed his eyes briefly to clear his mind and prepare for her answer.

What came next, he was not prepared for in the least. Slender fingers caressed his hair and a warm mouth pressed over his own.

Like a man possessed, he pulled her up and into his arms. The kiss deepened and he ran his tongue over her bottom lip.

Her mouth opened to him and the exploration continued. A low moan, his, or hers, he couldn't tell for sure, fueled the kiss and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her into his lap as he sat back into the chair.

Still in an embrace, their lips finally parted and Alistair looked adoringly into her eyes, smiling slyly. "Should I take that as a yes?"

A soft playful slap landed on his chest. "If you have to ask, I am obviously bad at this."

"No, no, you are good at this, _too_ good maybe. Though, I have to admit, I was preparing for the worst," he grinned cheekily. "That way if it comes out in my favor, it is all the more sweeter."

**~O~**

**AN/ **Wow, long time coming, yes? My little drama of delays. First, I forgot my glasses which I desperately need for reading and writing, in the country I left. I had to wait over a week for the mail to bring them from Norway to the US. I then needed some time to recoup from jetlag and acclimate back into this time zone.

I am truly sorry for the long delay and I hope never to let it happen again.

**Thank you all: **Those who have read, reviewed, messaged me, added to follow or favorites. Also those who just stop on by! Without you, why would I even do this? You are all awesome!

**Bodacious Betas! **A very talented **CCBug **and **Jaden Anderson;** both of these amazing women have brilliant stories to follow and read. Thank you for getting out the polishing silks and shining my chapter!

**Also: **If anyone is interested in seeing the full version of the coverart for this story, and not just the little thumbnail, and if you have a Facebook account. I have published it on my facebook as *public* view. So, you only have to have an account, and not on my friends list. I was unsure where else to post it. Thanks goes out to Jonny Ree, a professional 3D artist who also happens to be my boyfriend of five years. I had an inside track on a good artist! :D You can find the link in my profile here on ff dot net.


	13. Debauchery

**Chapter Thirteen: Debauchery **

Sitting at the head of his table in the Hanged Man, Varric noticed his companions were all displaying some odd behaviors.

First there was Rivani. He could swear the pirate wench was sulking. She never dealt with being left out of the loop well. He assumed Hawke's little private rendezvous with Ferelden's king had set her mood into motion.

Fenris was surly as ever. Add a dash of extra irritability to that, and Varric was ready to send the glowy elf to his dilapidated mansion; at the very least out of the tavern. Maybe he needed a few bandits or blood magi to slaughter outright to put him in a better mood.

Merrill had been playing with the same cluster of splinters in one plank on the wooden table for the last hour. _Hey! Maybe she can etch something pretty in it? _It couldn't hurt the décor any.

Aveline's appearances were few and far between these days, unless Hawke truly needed her assistance. Being the guard captain had been eating up her time and energy. Worse still, Meredith was becoming a piercing thorn in her side, even more than usual.

Blondie had not been around at all for the last few weeks; he and Hawke had a falling out that had hurt her emotionally. Usually, Varric went through other channels to get his information, but this time he'd wanted a direct source. All Blondie had said was, "Hawke is a traitor to her own kind

Of course, he meant the plight of the magi. I gotta tell ya, Blondie has gone off the deep end. I can only hope Alvy isn't caught in the crosshairs.

A chirpy voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Varric, Do you think… well, is Hawke going to leave us?" Merrill asked and frowned. "I feel like something big is going to happen and we'll lose her."

"Daisy, why so glum?" he asked her kindly. She was a smart woman, but with naïve, childlike qualities.

"We've been following her for so long, I see her as my keeper. Sorta."

"Considering what happened to your last keeper..." Varric raised a single brow. He knew it was unfair of him, but Merrill had been backpedaling on her promises. He'd spotted some of the broken mirror shards shining under her bed.

Fenris growled. "Yes. I believe referring to Hawke as your keeper would be flattering, all things considered."

"Creators! You are so impossible, Fenris!" And with that, Merrill stomped out of the tavern and off to who knows where.

"Take it easy, elf. I think Daisy has a crush on you."

Varric watched Mr. Broody slide his chair back from the table, which did nothing to stifle his chuckle over teasing him.

Fenris leered at him, "Dwarf." Which sounded like a slur, "I shall see if the chanter's board has any work."

Yep, nothing better than outright slaughter to cheer up a moody elf.

"Hey, Rivaini. What inappropriate thing can I say to get _you_walking off in a huff?"

"I'm bored," she said, sighing dramatically. "Let's find something fun to do!"

"Like?" he asked speculatively.

She grinned mischievously. "I hear there is a concert quartette in Hightown Square. Could be fun, yes?"

"Na-uh, Rivani. There is no way I'll be party to you spying on Hawke and the king."

"Who says I want to spy on them? Maybe I just like refined music?"

"Keep telling yourself that, maybe you'll even believe it," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just leave me out of it."

And with that, Rivani left too. "_Ahhh. _It's just you and me, Bianca, and you could use a polishing."

**~O~**

Hand in hand, Alistair walked with Alvy to a concert they both had been invited to. Towing along four royal guards surrounded them at all times made for an awkward date - such was the life for a monarch.

Alistair was accustomed to never being alone, save for sleeping. Even at that, guards were always posted outside his apartments or guest rooms during travels. Alvy, on the other hand, not so much. He could sense her eying the guards as they strolled through Hightown together.

Alistair patted her arm with his free hand, "Don't worry, they will act as if we are not even here."

Or so he had hoped. Why he did not send Oghren back with Teagan befuddled him. The dwarf was overprotective, which, as a guard, he assumed was a good thing, though, he had no filter when it came to personal opinion.

"If they act as if we're not here, then how effective can that be while guarding you?" She asked, grinning. "Maybe that is why you are in armor today? You get ignored too often?"

He laughed. He knew this woman was going to be a constant challenge and keep him on his toes at every turn.

"Sometimes they let me help if I am attacked," he teased. "I get all the short skinny ones."

Alistair squeezed her hand, and then released it. Moving feather-like, he glided his fingers up her arm and down her back, placing it on her waist. He led her to the honored guest seats prepared for them both.

Once they were seated, she leaned in, whispering in his ear. "How many of these have you attended?"

"I lost count ages ago. I do my best political planning at these things."

Alvy pinched his leg playfully, an amused smile teasing the edge of her lips. Consciously or not, her hand remained there, lying lightly on his lap. He gently turned her hand over and laced her fingers in his own. Looking down at their entanglement, Alistair marveled at how comfortable it all felt.

The musicians began their first piece but Alistair found it to be no more than background noise, losing out to the thoughts in his mind. The pad of his thumb swirled small patterns in rhythm with the music over her skin. Chill bumps formed up her arm and caused his muscles to tighten. _Maker_, his body had not reacted to a woman in so long, it nearly felt painful.

Finding it very hard to breathe, he wondered if Alvy was in this bubble that formed around him. Sweet air thick with her dewy scent – _why was nothing but this sensation coming into focus?_ Alistair risked a sidelong glance that took in her body all the way up to her face. Pink petal cheeks and half lidded eyes had him dangling precariously over the edge. She had been feeling it too, although, he wondered how she managed to keep her breathing so even. _Women - _what a man would not do to learn their infuriating control.

Taking a deep breath, Alistair relaxed back into his seat, staring at the quartette while _other _things, many other more delightful things played through his imagination.

**~O~**

_Look at them all, simpering fools that they are. Cattle dressed in finery, showing off their imagined self-importance. Not one! Understands the sacrifices we, the holy chosen make for them._

_They will, soon enough. Especially that one there, (looking directly at Hawke, sat so proudly in the king's guest box for the concert) that mage is my test, gifted by the Maker._

_Meredith rose from her seat and slid behind the pillars in the square. the shadows affording her the retreat from the disease the city had embraced._

_Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and by her own doing no less. Raise her up and then make her fall. Show the world a mage cannot be trusted._

"Aren't they just adorable?" Isabela purred into the knight-commander's ear. "Sickeningly sweet if you ask me, but I suppose you haven't."

Meredith whirled around and batted her hand as if shooing a fly. Schooling her features and leveling her glare directly at the pirate, "yet another disease in this city."

"Oh, that…" Isabela said, making her encounter a game. "I know this amazing mage healer, so don't you worry that mature, yet pretty metal little head of yours. I am very well now, thank you."

"Not surprising," the knight-commander said sternly. "A sickness will feast on the debauchery your type spreads."

Isabela smirked. "Maybe you could use a little debauchery yourself. I hear it's to die for. It might loosen that tiara a bit. And you could always visit the clinic if you get an unwanted tarnish..."

"I sincerely doubt you were invited, so why are you here?"

Isabela smiled, sickeningly sweet. "Why I'm here, is none of your business." She said, and then discreetly pointed in Hawke's direction. "You've been glaring my friend's way for a while now."

"Don't be ridiculous," she growled. "I have better things to do with my time than worry about the Champion and her twisted love life."

Meredith turned on her heel and began to retreat from the concert. Isabela agilely stepped into her way and planted her feet in place.

"Who said anything about a love life?" she asked suspiciously. "Have you been tailing Hawke?"

Meredith seethed, "Get out of my way, now!"

"You don't have only Hawke to worry about. You have us all." Isabela stepped aside, but not before adding, "Never forget that. The shadows are my ally, not yours."

Isabela watched as the knight-commander strode off, head held high and full of herself.

"Shit," she muttered and made her way back to the Hanged Man. _Varric's going to split a chest hair over this one, for sure_.

**~O~**

**AN/ **I know! Two chapters back to back. This is not a terribly long chapter, but once again, my ending found itself.

**Thank you all** for the amazing feedback on the last chapter. It revved me up to crank out another!

**Thank you, lisakodysam** for being an amazing beta! I need to bake her a pie or something equally yummy! She makes me work and it is 100% worth it! Go read her stories! Simply amazing.

**Also**. **Thank you, Erynnar** for being that great friend to help untangle a twisted sentence and bounce ideas around with!


	14. Departure

**Chapter Fourteen: Departure**

Ten amazing days had passed by quickly, too quickly for Alistair's liking. He was to leave six days ago and found a plethora of excuses why he needed to extend his stay in Kirkwall. Truth be told, there was but one reason, and her name was Alvy Hawke.

When the messenger had arrived while he and Alvy were having a midday meal together, bringing news from Aedan Cousland, Alistair begrudgingly made plans for his departure. He knew he had been away from Ferelden far longer than necessary or planned. Although Aedan had marked the cryptic note as urgent, Alistair, knew what it meant.

_My Liege_  
_The black bird has flown full circle. Landing is imminent._  
_A C_

Tossing the note into the fireplace, Alistair suited up and made final preparations with the guards that had remained with him when Arl Teagan went on ahead.

"Oghren, have the others ready within the hour. Lady Hawke will be accompanying us to the docks where we'll board the ship taking us to Amaranthine."

"What about the horses?" Oghren asked. "We can't just leave 'em here, can we?"

Alistair grinned. Oghren hated riding horseback and even worse, his horse was more a stout pony and decidedly offensive towards his manhood. "I didn't figure you would mind me boarding the horses in favor of other travel means."

The dwarf growled, followed by a string of expletives that sounded not nearly as nasty as they might have, if they were not in dwarven. "Rather have the horses back," he said, followed by more grumbling. "It ain't right. My people weren't made for traveling on water."

"Or horses, it seems." Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose and continued, "what would you have us do, walk all the way back?"

"I'd rather take the blighted Deep Roads, than any of these crazy human methods!"

Seeing the true distress over taking ship caused his likely most loyal guard. Alistair decided a bribe was in order. "How about a full keg of ale from the Rose, just for you? I'll have it delivered to the ship before we set sail."

Bushy eyebrows flew up so high up on his forehead, they nearly blended into the dwarf's hairline. "Two, and you got yerself a deal!"

Pondering the barter, "One, and a bottle of rum," offered Alistair. "Final offer, take it or leave it." Though, he knew leaving him here was not an option. He had hoped the distraction of ale and rum would overshadow the idle threat.

"Deal," agreed Oghren and then added, "but none of that wussy juice you and the little lady been sippin'. That stuff's weaker than the milk from my ma's tit."

Scrubbing his hand over his face, "Oghren that is… Oh, never mind. Be ready in an hour – wait – no, one and a half hours. It would seem I need to find a messenger to send to the Rose as well. Take Dog with you, I have a few things to tend to before we meet out front."

"Fine, fine... C'mon, mutt."

Dog rose from his sleeping place, yawned, whined, and slowly followed the dwarf out of the guest apartment.

After Oghren and Dog left to meet up with the other three guards, Alistair walked down to the Keep's concierge along with a handful of bribery money so his gard would sail the Waking Sea without a fuss.

One more detail to tie up and they could go to Alvy's estate. Seneschal Bran nodded when Alistair peered up on the stairwell landing. With his cue, he walked back into the unused throne room office and waited.

One of the double doors opened minutely and the seneschal entered the office, followed by a tall, slender cloaked figure.

"This is?" asked Alistair.

The seneschal nodded.

Alistair turned to the cloaked person, "You cannot, under any circumstances, be seen by her or her companions."

The cloaked figure finally spoke. Alistair was slightly surprised the voice was so melodic and male. So thin was he, Alistair had assumed it was a tall woman.

"I know my task. You have paid for the best, and that is what you will receive in return." He bowed, pivoted on his heel and silently slipped through the door.

Both men were left watching the now closed door. Alistair shivered, "Disturbing."

Bran turned and strode over to a small table, lifting a leather folder and handing it to Alistair. "With the reports I've obtained, and what Serah Tethras has sent you, I believe your decision was prudent."

Looking down at the stack of reports he was holding, Alistair ran his free hand through his hair. "She does have a propensity for finding trouble."

The seneschal made a peculiar face. "Messere Hawke would do well if she prioritized her dealings within this city."

"You don't seem to like her much," stated the king. "Why so willing to help me out with this?"

"Clearly, with no viscount, my position here is tenuous at best, and you are king. Whichever way the power shifts in this city, it is good to have outside options."

Clapping his hand on the seneschal's shoulder, "You are the snobby sort, and I can see why Alvy is amused by you." All things considered, snooty personality and all, Alistair saw the potential in having a man like Bran around. "Maybe you will consider a career change someday."

"Is that an offer, You Majesty?" Bran inquired seriously.

"It could be," the king said honestly. "See that the Champion stays safe."

Alistair had not elaborated on his last comment, only left it hanging in the air. The seneschal was a social and political climbing creature and very prideful. Knowing he would also be loyal when it came down to it, he gave the man some incentive.

Finally breaking free of the keep, Alistair stepped into place while his four guards took point, surrounding him and made his way to Alvy's estate. Dog ran ahead of the group, as he likely needed to make a tree stop on the way.

**~O~**

"With the reforms…"

"Not talking about this."

"Honestly, Alvy. You must see what…"

"All I can see is a would-be prince without lands trying to convince me…"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted Alvy and Sebastian. Alvy was hoping brother-prince would've taken his leave by now. She had a sneaking suspicion Seb wanted to meet the king.

Bodahn answered the knock and she could hear the friendly greetings between Alistair, the surly dwarf guard and Bodahn. Alvy and Sebastian both stood, waiting for the king to enter the room.

With a feminine curtsy and a secret smile, "Welcome, my king."

Sebastian's bow was low and incredibly formal, "It is an honor, Your Majesty."

Everyone halted in their greetings, as they stared down at both mabari, each taking turns sniffing the others' bums, in what would pass for doggy greetings, before running circles around the room. Alvy shooed them both out into the garden.

After seeing that both dogs were outside, Alvy could feel his eyes linger over her, Alistair walked up to her and stood mere inches away. She felt her hand being gently taken and she watched him bend slightly and place a light kiss across her knuckles. He lingered longer than was polite in mixed company, letting a warm rush of breath shroud her hand. Chill bumps formed over her skin and she eyed him, whispering, "You did that intentionally."

Alistair winked, shameless of his actions. "A pleasure as always, my lady." Leaning in, he purred low in her ear, "the blush suits you," he said and chuckled with satisfaction when the pink hues in her cheeks deepened.

Alvy heard more than one throat clear in the room, and immediately calmed herself. Her pride not letting _his majesty_get the better of her, she introduced a prince to a king.

"Your Majesty, this is Prince Sebastian Vael, of Starkhaven."

Alistair shook Seb's hand and offered his condolences. "I met your parents at the first anniversary of my coronation. They helped with the cleanup efforts in Ferelden and also brought wheat and corn for the grain stores." Alistair released Sebastian's hand and patted his shoulder, "They were good people. You should be taking your place and continuing where they left off."

"Thank you for your encouraging words, your majesty. I hope the Maker guides me and shows me my path."

"The Maker?" asked the king, incredulous. "How does the Maker's will show you a path, if you never bother going down one in the first place? I never wanted to be king, or so I thought. No divine will laid my path out before me - a sneaky mage with a big staff put me on my throne."

Alvy could see flashes of pain, then pride, ending with resolve as he spoke to the would-be prince. "In time, I found I could do some good for Ferelden. As I studied the laws of the land and got to know its people, I found I actually liked it. My uncle claims it is in my blood. I think it's because I had no other career lined up at the time," he said, and grinned. "Besides, once you help kill an Archdemon, anything else pales in comparison."

"Starkhaven is not without a ruler, and there will likely be bloodshed if I push for the throne. I wish no one to lose a life if I am to ascend into the role as prince."

Alvy snorted and the king looked at her, smiled coyly and continued. "Goran is a distant cousin? You think he is well suited for the position, rather than a son and heir born to it?" Alistair held up a hand when Sebastian was about to argue his point. "And before you argue about being the third son, it does not change the fact that you are now in line for succession, and regardless of being the third son, you were raised with the same education as your brothers, were you not?"

"Yes, but…"

"Sebastian," Alistair said seriously. "People die every day for far less reasons then you taking back your family heritage and giving Starkhaven a fair and just ruler." He pointed to Hawke. "How many deaths have you been a party to while taking up this cause or that, when traveling with Alvy?"

Alvy placed a hand on Alistair's arm, "I think we are running short on time, your ship leaves in an hour."

"You're correct, 'he agreed and smiled. "It would appear you have been saved by my ranting, for now." Offering Sebastian his hand. "We can talk on this more another time - know that you have my support."

"Thank you," said Sebastian, after bowing. He turned to Alvy and confirmed their plans to meet up later.

With both dogs in tow, the small entourage made their way to the ferry.

**~O~**

The ferry ride from Kirkwall proper to the Gallows' docks went by too quickly. Alistair never released Alvy's hand, even as they climbed into the small skiff. She didn't seem any more keen to let go of his hand, either.

He remembered Wynne at that very moment. Her soft words in his darkest of moments, _'You may never marry for love, Alistair. Duty may dictate you wed to secure your country._ _Though,_' she'd said forcibly, when he had tried to interrupt her like a petulant child, _'something tells me love will find you one day, when and where you least expect it.'_

With a sidelong glance, he looked over at Alvy as Wynne's words came back to him. _If you could only have met her Wynne, _he thought_, and I could have made your day, telling you how right you were._

Realizing Alvy was staring at him, his thoughts returned to the present and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Is something on your mind?" she asked. "You seem miles away."

"Maybe just a few miles," he agreed. "Current events can sometimes bring back wisdom from the past."

She shivered and without thought, he wrapped an arm around her and drew her in alongside him. She fit so perfectly under his arm and against his side. Turning his head, his kissed her hair and she snuggled into his embrace. They sat quietly like that until the skiff reached the slip and the dock hands tied and secured the vessel.

Both dogs ran off the boat, chasing one another. Two guards filed out, while Alistair took Alvy's hand and escorted her onto the dock. Oghren and the fourth guard filed out last, all four taking position as they walked to the pier for their departure.

"My keg and rum best be on that ship or I ain't sailin'," Oghren said, grousing again. "Humans got no sense, none at all."

Standing at the pier, Alistair became confused. "This is the correct pier, but this is not the ship I commissioned for passage."

Alvy squinted against the easterly sunrise and fury settled into her bones. She released Alistair's hand and took off up the pier and straight up the ship's gangplank.

Now standing on the ship, Alvy shouted at the top of her lungs. "Isabela, if you do not come down here RIGHT NOW, I will have you tied down and will force you into trousers! Maybe even a dress!"

Sauntering down from the captain's bridge, Isabela was grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Take it down a notch, sweetness. I am here, all legal and everything."

"Where is," Alvy seethed, "the king's commissioned ship, and captain for that matter?"

"Here," Isabela said and pointed to her ship obtained by blackmail. "And here," proceeding to point at herself. "I even let the sod keep the money the king paid him. I took on a small cargo delivery for Amaranthine so I figured - why not take a king too?"

Several footsteps came from behind and Alvy whirled around in embarrassment. Her pirate friend actually hijacked the king's transportation!

"Hey there, handsome," Isabela crooned. "Today is your lucky day, you get a real captain that not only will get you to Ferelden safely, she can also kick arse if we're attacked. Unlike that old rickety fool you hired."

Alvy lowered her head, staring at the wooden planks on deck. She was considering how many ways were there to skin a pirate. Large hands laid gently on her shoulders had pulled her from her macabre thoughts.

A soft touch of Alistair's fingertips placed under her chin, lifting her head, and he said, "I will find the other captain and reschedule the departure if this makes you very uncomfortable."

"Like hell you will." Isabela scolded. "Do you know what I went through and had to give up, just to set sail?"

"No, Isabela," Alvy spat. "We haven't a clue what you went through because you hadn't enough respect for me to let me know what you were up to!"

"Yeah, well…" Isabela dodged. "Timing is everything, and I had little of it to execute all this before the king left."

"Why?" Alvy asked pointedly.

"You'll think it is more than is it, so why bother explaining?"

Alvy stood firm in front of the pirate. "Try me."

"Because I wanted to?" Isabela asked rather than stating. "I was anxious to try out my new ship and I just couldn't help myself."

Oddly enough, Alvy believed her completely. She even started to laugh at the entire scene.

"Did I miss a joke?" asked the king.

Alvy shook her head. "Nope. No joke. Unless you consider Isabela actually telling the truth for once to be funny, which I do, very funny at that."

Oghren's guffaws ignited the other guards to chuckle and Alistair, try as he might, stifled his own laughter as well as he could manage.

"How long will you be gone, Isabela?" asked Alvy. "Or should this be goodbye?" Something inside Alvy actually felt broken. She always knew her friend would hear the call of the open seas since obtaining her ship. She thought she would have time to say goodbye first.

"I'll be back in a week, ten days at most," she confirmed. "Don't you worry, sweet thing, I am not going to abandon you now. I gave you my promise." Alvy received a hug from the pirate and watched her saunter her way back up to the bridge.

Two cabin-boys came to help with personal items and offer to show the group to their quarters. Alistair released one guard to take a tour of the ship.

Oghren fidgeted from foot to foot. "Yes Oghren, go check and see if they delivered your ale and rum." Alistair instructed the other two guards to tag along with him.

They were onboard a ship full of pirates and Alvy knew Isabela was very picky who she hired - they were quite safe.

Finally alone, Alvy pulled on Alistair's hand and walked him over to the railings on the starboard side of the ship. As they made their way over, Isabela yelled down. "There's a small room center starboard. Feel free!"

Choosing not to feed Isabela's imagination, she simply nodded and found the small room she indicated.

"This is actually nice," Alistair appraised. "So if you blackmail a slave trader out of his ship, you get the deluxe edition?"

"With mustard yellow silk fabrics," she said, chuckling. "She told me I couldn't see the ship until she changed them. I guess she really was short on time."

Strong arms circled around her shoulders and quieted her babbling. Alvy turned into him and laid her head on his chest. "I'll miss you."

It wasn't an easy thing for her to admit. She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The sheer impossibility of this relationship ever being allowed to bloom was more than her mind could process yet.

Her body pressed tightly against his and she wrapped her arms around his waist, closing any gap left between them. Warm lips were pressed into her hair and she sighed with contentment.

"I will be back," he promised. "I think Teagan himself would escort me back in the hope that you return to Ferelden."

"And what are your hopes?" she asked, feeling quite bold.

"That all my planning and my very smart and cunning chancellor, along with Arl Teagan, win over the nobles and…"

She waited after his pause. When he remained silent, she prompted for him to continue. "And?"

No words came. None were needed. Alistair brought a hand around from her back and tilted her head back with his fingertips. He gazed so deeply into her eyes, she felt like fire would rise up and consume them both.

A butterfly's kiss on her forehead tingled through her and over her skin. He then kissed each cheek, whispering words of trying his best, and promises to return.

Her eyelids, now so heavy with desire, closed as his mouth covered hers. Her toes curled up in her boots and her back arched, pressing her body even closer into his. A nip at her bottom lip made her stomach flip and an ache welled up deep inside her. She let her lips part and he nipped at her lips again with his teeth. He soothed his tongue over where his teeth had left a blissful little sting.

Releasing the grip on his waist, Alvy slid her hands up his back and into his hair, pulling his head down to her. He moaned his approval and secretly, she was grinning inside. The kiss was more than she'd ever experienced in her life.

The fog horn of the boat sounded, pulling the two out of their drunken passionate stupor, just barely.

Large calloused hands held her head in place. Alistair murmured promises of return and pressed his forehead to hers. "I will miss you, too."

When he pulled away, she felt a chill from his absence. Embarrassed, she felt like pouting over it. She watched Alistair pull a package out from a satchel he had been carrying. He placed the satchel back onto the floor and handed her the paper wrapped bundle.

"What's this?" she asked, looking dumbly at the package.

"I thought you might like another oversized shirt to swallow you up," he said, teasing her. "You know, while the other one is being washed."

"You gave me one of your shirts?" she asked, somewhat unsure how to feel about that. She was not offended in the least. She had actually thought about missing how he smelled when they were close and how much she would miss that while he was back in Ferelden.

"It may sound strange, but…"

"But, you didn't wash it first," she asked, more hoping that she didn't seem crazy.

He sighed and seemed relieved. "Exactly."

Alvy considered that for a moment. She reached up and untied the ribbon from her hair and placed it in the palm of his hand. "I didn't wash it," she said, chuckling.

_~o~_

Still sitting with Lord Trevor on the Gallows' docks, Alvy watched until the ship was completely out of sight. The day had passed by so fast and she realized the sun was close to setting. An eerie feeling she was being watched unsettled her. Lord Trevor also seemed alert to a hidden presence. Too close to the Templars, she assumed. No matter how free she was, they still unsettled her.

Taking the skiff back to Kirkwall proper, the feeling of being watched passed. After landing, the feeling returned and made her shiver. She made short work of her walk back to her estate and asked Bodahn to please get a message to Fenris. She wanted her home checked out before retiring for the night in her new sleepshirt.

**~O~**

**AN/** The reviews, adds, following, and hits have been overwhelming. I am so happy you all are enjoying the story. We are over the half-way point and I want to know, who wishes for some steamy romance? I will likely have to go to rated M at some point, or shall I keep this in the PG13 zone?

**Lisakodysam, **who is not only an amazing author, she is an outstanding beta! Thank you so much for buffing up and giving my writing such a shine!

**Thank you, Erynnar **for keeping me straight with the details. Your memory is an iron trap of awesomeness!


	15. Goodluck Charm

**Chapter Fifteen: Good-luck Charm**

Thud—a boot dropped to the floor. Again, the action repeated several times.

"Hawke," Varric said as he pointed at the boot, "your preoccupation with footwear is really disturbing."

Another thud. After picking it back up and studying the spot on the floor, Hawke dropped it on target once again. Her mind seemed millions of miles away, and no matter his teasing, she wouldn't take the bait.

Broody entered Varric's suite at the Hanged Man; he stopped just before Hawke's chair and watched her methodical boot game. "What is wrong with her?"

"Beats me," Varric said and shrugged. "She's been at it since my first tankard, and I'm now up to three, maybe four. I stopped counting."

Fenris stood there watching a bit longer. His eyes were following as the boot ascended and plummeted to the floor. "Is she drunk?"

"Nope, not a single drop of spirits today," said Varric. "No spirit in general."

Fenris' low, gravelly voice rumbled in his chest. "I see."

"You do?" asked Varric. "Fill me in, elf. Share your enlightenment with the rest of the class, class meaning, me."

The elf took a seat next to Hawke and said, "Buy me a drink, dwarf."

"Have it put on my tab." Varric waved Norah over to take their order.

Both he and the elf had their ale and Varric prodded Fenris to continue. "Spill it, elf. What do you know that I don't? Which, by the way, I'm not keen on being the last to know. I make it my business of always knowing."

Fenris teasingly provoked him. "Sucks to be you at the moment."

"Not amused, elf," Varric said. "This, this is my _not_ amused face."

"You dwarves all look the same to me," Fenris chuckled. "Elves, on the other hand, we have diversity."

Varric snorted. "And don't forget plucky baby makers."

"True enough," Fenris admitted.

"Back to," he said, nodding in Hawke's direction.

Varric watched as the elf glanced at Alvy, back into his tankard, and to Varric again. "Do you not find it odd, talking about her as if she cannot even hear us?"

Varric shrugged. "Not so sure she can, or wants to for that matter."

Fenris nodded. "Last week, Hawke escorted _her _king to the docks when he took ship back to Ferelden. She had sent a messenger that night for me to come secure her house. She felt as if someone had been following her."

Varric's eyebrow rose quizzically. "_Her _king? Do you have a problem with those two together?"

"Bah," Fenris growled. "The royal lover boy is delusional, and now has Hawke wrapped up in his flights of fancy."

Varric chuckled. "Who in the void says shit like, '_flights of fancy_?'"

"Fenris leered at him. "What sort of person says '_shit'_ at every opportunity?"

"Hey," Varric said. "_Shit _happens." He chuckled. "Get it? Shit happens. No? Anyway, it happens to be a very versatile word. 'He knows his _shit_,''You're _shitting_ me,' 'I don't give a _sh_—'"

"Enough!" Fenris stopped him from providing anymore of his examples.

Varric held up his hands, palms out. "Alright. No more talking _shit. _Ha! Couldn't resist."

Fenris glared at the dwarf.

Varric chuckled and asked, "Too far?"

Fenris' only reply was an even more impressive glower.

Varric sat back in his chair. "Let's get back to the more serious issue. Hawke felt she was being followed? "

"It would seem so. I found nothing around or near her home. I slept in her parlor because she was so shaken by the feeling."

Both men stopped their conversation when they noticed Hawke putting her boot back on. She stood and turned to them. "Please, continue on without me." She then walked out of Varric's suite and out of the tavern.

Varric shrugged. "Was it something we said?"

Fenris simply rolled his eyes at the dwarf.

**~O~**

Following the mage had not been an easy task. Her companions were always around her and two in particular were very aware of their surroundings.

The dwarf with the unusual crossbow always appeared to be casual and careless. Upon closer inspection, he knew the dwarf's act was just that, an act. Observing his tells, he saw the pattern in which the dwarf scanned for any dangers. _Tricky and effective_. Knowing who you are dealing with is what kept him from ever being noticed.

What gave him pause was the peculiar elf. He never hid his intent, always scanning, alert, and at the ready for anything. Along with acute elven hearing and eyesight, this was the one of whom to be wary.

What made today so different, the mage was walking alone. She seemed to be wandering, rather than walking with purpose or destination. Her head was down and even the townsfolk, who called to her, got little more than a raised hand as she passed them by. Staying on her trail was little more than child's-play.

As he wove in and out between buildings and shadows, he found the mage intriguing. She had no air of superiority about her. The power she wielded never gave him the impression she would consider abusing her gifts. So careful, was she, he had to give credit where credit was due. That was why he chose this life, his life, and all it entailed.

His former mentor would be appalled with his choices, not that it mattered. He was long dead and gone from that life, figuratively and literally.

As they reached the outskirts of the city, he realized they were heading for the Wounded Coast.

_By the void, was she insane? Coming out here alone? _

As she made her way down an offshoot of the main path, she stopped at the end where a group of large boulders were nestled into the ground. Climbing up, she perched herself atop the highest rock. He fell back and observed under the cover of cattails growing at the mouth of the small path.

He settled into the foliage as he kept watch and listened. _Was she singing? _The tune carried over the water, nothing in the way to impede the lyrics.

_Our anchor we'll weigh,_

_And our sails we will set._

_Goodbye, fare-ye-well,_

_The friends we are leaving,_

_We leave with regret,_

_My love, we're homeward bound._

Surprisingly, she could sort of sing, at least she was not terrible pitchy. He noticed the words were of sailing home. If it had any significance, Ferelden and a certain king would have been his best guess.

It was either a very short song, or her attention had shifted. When he heard her voice again, he inwardly cursed.

"You have three choices. First, come try to kill me, as I am getting quite impatient awaiting impending battle. Second, show yourself—state your purpose and why you have been following me. Third, leave."

He sighed, and then rose to his full height. Slowly, he walked down the path, hands out, showing he was not armed or at the ready.

She swung her legs around and faced him from her roost. "You name?"

He schooled his features and merely watched her.

"You do have a name, do you not? Or shall I call you something of my own choosing? Squishy bits seared over rocks, perhaps?"

"You threaten me, but you have yet to pull your staff from your back." He pointed to the mage staff peering out from behind her shoulder. "Am I to assume you see me as no threat? In which case, you are either a fool, or you play a game with me."

She shrugged.

"I see," he said, and sighed. "Then I am to assume you _are_ foolish with your life."

"I asked you question."

He regarded her, and knew his evasion was likely futile. "I am called Silvius, my lady." He bowed. "And you would be Alvy Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall."

She snorted. "I see I need no introduction. Good. Then you will also realize there is a reason for that. You either have great courage to face me alone, or are what you claim me to be—an utter fool."

He forced down a pull from the edge of his lips. Displaying his amusement with the mage would not be prudent at this point. "I never said 'utter.'"

Tilting her head, she grinned. Obviously, not in the least bit worried over showing her delight. "I suppose you didn't."

With her feet pressed to the rock, the mage propelled herself off the boulder and landed with a soft thud in the sand directly in front of him. "Reveal yourself, mystery man."

Slowly, he pulled back the hood of his cloak and faced her. "Satisfied?"

"Just barely," she said. "Who hired you? The Carta, the Chantry? Oh, I know! The Ladies' Auxiliary? They were quite put out that I hadn't RSVP'd their invitation to tea."

"Do you always deflect in jest?"

"No…" she said. "Almost always, although, not the point here. Must I truly repeat myself?"

"With all these choices, which shall I select? Sadly, none of your speculations were remotely close. I would not give the lowlife Carta a second thought. As for the Chantry, I am sure they have enough of their own agents to spy on whomever they deem necessary. I must wonder though, why you would turn down tea with the regal women of Kirkwall? I shudder to think of the gossip and social faux pas labeling you uncouth."

Alvy smirked. "I appreciate your concern. I'll have to endure the trauma of being a social outcast."

She was bold and a smartass. He liked her and saw clearly why the king was so willing to pay his price for her protection. Still, he was not about to give into her demands so easily. His fee was now forfeit due to failing his mission. Of all the people in her little entourage, she was not the one he had worried about finding him out. How could he have miscalculated so severely?

Crooking his arm, he offered it to Hawke. "May I have the honor of escorting you back to Hightown, or wherever your next destination may take you?"

She looked down at the proffered arm, and back up at him. "You can't be serious. Arm and arm, the happy prey and predator stroll?"

"I am no predator," he said and offered his arm again.

"Insane predator," she accused. "Why can I never meet anyone normal?"

"Birds of a feather," he said and watched her glare at him. "I am going to follow you, whether you take my arm or not. I swore to a duty, and you will be protected, fee forfeited or not."

"Suit yourself, predator man."

On her heels, he followed his charge back into the city.

**~O~**

The journey from Kirkwall to Amaranthine had been smooth and uneventful. Isabela remained long enough to resupply and then returned to Kirkwall. Alistair was glad for her quick return. The more friends Alvy had with her, the better, especially ones as deadly as Isabela.

From there, Alistair stopped at Vigil's Keep to pay a courtesy visit to the Grey Wardens. He would be coming back in a formal capacity in the months to come. Nathaniel Howe was to be appointed Warden Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. Leonie Caron, the current commander was to be reassigned back in her homeland of Orlias.

After a night of rest, he continued onto Denerim. He had not been home for weeks and was yearning for his own bed. Still, he could think of one person he yearned for even more. His thoughts drifted back to that last day with her. The absolute rush he felt when they kissed. Not scooping her up and whisking her off to Ferelden had taken a great deal of control.

Determined, Alistair was going to make this work, refusing to have love taken away from him twice in one lifetime was more than could be asked of him. He gave all he had in him as king, and never asked for anything for himself. He hadn't believed there was anything or anyone he could ever want for since Solona.

Love, he realized, yes, he was truly falling in love with Alvy Hawke. Nowhere ready to admit _those_ feelings, he tucked that revelation away for now. There was work to be done before he could let himself have hope.

The bells tolled, announcing the king had returned to the capitol city. He was blessedly thankful night had fallen and Denerim's activity was at a minimum.

Alistair had always made it a practice to wave and greet in goodwill. The people had always expressed their pleasure, having a king who cared about their existence. And he truly did. They were the reason he worked so hard for reform. Other countries called Ferelden backwater and barbarian. Alistair saw it as a blank slate, ready for growth.

Upon entering the palace grounds, the guards traveling with him dispersed and a footman relieved Alistair of his traveling gear. Fresh guards escorted him into the palace proper. There he was handed off yet again, while his manservant waited for orders.

"Food, hot bath, and bring me up to date while we walk to my apartments."

The manservant called out orders for hot water to be started, and food to be brought up to the royal apartments.

Side by side, Alistair listened to the list Aedan had prepared for him upon his arrival. Anything sensitive, Aedan would tell him personally.

The doors were opened for him and he sighed in relief. This was the one place in the entire palace he felt relaxed. The one place he could kick off his boots and eat cheese and bread on his couch in his smalls, if he wished.

Bevil, his manservant, started tugging at him, assisting with the removal of armor and dusty travel clothing. A robe was held up and he slid his arms into the soft fabric.

"Bevil, my good man, you are irreplaceable."

During his first year as king, he often resisted the fuss over him. He knew how to dress himself, comb his own hair, and even shine up his own boots. The rebellion faded over time, as he realized these men and women were doing their jobs, and he was making their life a constant frustration, unable to make him happy. Teagan had been the one to tactfully point this out to him in a way he could relate too.

Bevil bowed. "Thank you, my liege. Shall I lay out your sleepwear?"

"That would be great. And maybe something comfortable until I am ready to retire."

"Very good, my liege. Your bath will be prepared soon, and I will see to having a meal brought to you."

With that, Bevil bowed and backed out of the room.

While waiting on his bath, he fumbled with his pack, searching for the ribbon Alvy had given him. _What can I do with you so I can keep you with me as a good luck charm?_

An idea came to him. He pulled the small circlet he wore out of its case on the bureau. This crown was for less formal occasions, like court hearings, scheduled audiences, and dinner parties. Inside, the crown had an inlaid band of cloth added for comfort. Alistair wove the ribbon into the headband. He inspected his work and was pleased the ribbon was well hidden and no one would be the wiser.

A knock at the door reminded him to put the circlet back into its case and he called out, "Enter"

Bevil, along with a kitchen staff member, a new girl, Alistair thought, had carried in a tray of food, two ales, and a pitcher of warm water so he could wash up. Bevil filled the basin and handed Alistair the clean towel that was draped over his arm.

"My liege," he said, and inclined his head. "Lord Cousland is requesting a private audience."

"He better have brought his own plate; I'm not willing to share." He pointed over at the two ales. "Assumed I would say yes, did you?"

"A prepared manservant is an irreplaceable one."

Alistair's grin was wide. "Bevil, you are prepared enough to do my job."

Bevil was aghast at the thought. "I should think not, my liege."

The stray thought of if he could order Bevil to have a sense of humor passed when Aedan walked in, a plate full of cake in hand and looked highly amused. "Worry not, Your Majesty, I come with my own bounty."

"I really hope I got some of that cake too," Alistair said as he lifted the dome off the tray, searching for cake. "That looks delicious!"

Popping another bite in his mouth, Aedan agreed. "Very delicious."

"Cake!" Alistair shouted. "I'll start with dessert first."

"Do you have further need of me, my liege?" Bevil was always so formal. Alistair wished he would relax, if only a little. He had to admit, though—Bevil was a source of amusement with all of his stiff formal mannerisms.

"That will be all. Enjoy your night."

The kitchen staff girl had everything laid out. "May I bring you anything else, my liege?"

"No, no. Everything looks great," Alistair said, then sat and tucked a linen napkin over his lap. "Have a good evening."

Both he and Aedan settled at the table in the sitting room. Alistair was already digging thoroughly into his meal when he felt eyes on him. He looked up, swallowed his food, and then wiped his mouth. "It would be more polite and much less awkward if you ate that cake while I eat my meal."

"How do you eat like that and still able to fit through a door?" asked Aedan. "I've never seen the like before you."

"Grey Warden thing," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "We're all like that, and legendary for it, among other things."

"Like?"

"I would really like to tell you." Alistair grinned. "But then I'd have to conscript you. No more posh life at court, no more freshly perfumed ladies, and no more cake like this!"

"If they are legendary, then they cannot be secret."

"Legendary amongst darkspawn," the king teased. "They can keep a secret, which is their only quality, really. I suspect lack of talking isn't a quality but rather a circumstance."

Aedan stood and walked over to pick the two ales off the tray and brought them back to the table, sliding one to the king's place setting.

Alistair picked up the mug right away. "Thanks." He gulped half the amber liquid down before taking another breath. "Get me up to speed on what happened while I was gone, other than what I am already aware of."

"Very well," Aedan agreed. "You eat, I'll talk."

Alistair nodded his agreement and dug back into his meal.

"The Antivan king is offering a barter between our two countries. They are interested in our natural granite resources, and in trade, they will offer two hundred Cavallo Pentro, which, if I may remind you, are the most famous breed of horse in all of Thedas. Along with this offer, they will also send several well trained breeders and trainers, so that we might build our cavalry back up to full standard."

Putting his fork down, Alistair asked, "How much granite do they need? That is a lot of horses and long term services they are offering."

Aedan nodded. "It is indeed. With their offer, they are requesting full rights to the north quarter of the Frostbacks. We have quarries set up to the south side of the Frostbacks and several to the east near Amaranthine, both owned by the Crown and privately. "

Rubbing his hand over an unshaven jaw, the king asked, "Any private owners in the northern quarter?"

"One, a hermit, for lack of better term, has already been contacted by the Antivan treasurer. They are willing to pay him for land he doesn't own. Amusing, really, the man has technically staked his claim on the property because no one has bothered to chase him off in over forty years."

"Without my agreement or a vote from the counsel?" Alistair considered what Aedan informed him of. "Either they are incredibly assuming, or someone has led them to believe this is nearly a done deal."

Aedan smirked. "With all due respect, Alistair, we are dealing with Antivans."

Alistair inwardly grinned. It took no time to convince the youngest Cousland to call him by his given name while in private. His older brother, the Teryrn of Highever, had been just as easygoing. The two were raised by parents who not only taught them well, but also gave them a sense of loyalty, camaraderie and made friends easily.

Sitting back in his chair, finally full from the meal, Alistair picked up his ale and finished off the remaining contents before continuing. "True enough. Have you posted anyone to keep an eye on them until we can begin talks on the offer?"

Aedan slyly grinned. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"Good point," Alistair said appraisingly. "Keep me up to date. If my instincts are telling me anything, these horses could be a brilliant trade, considering we have granite practically lying around the country."

"There has not been anything else noteworthy, except," he said and then paused. "He's been waiting on you since the day after you were originally scheduled to return."

"I need to bathe," Alistair said as he stood and stretched, yawning loudly. "And I need sleep. I am sure he has been more than capable of entertaining himself. He has a knack for it. One more day won't end the world."

"Very well," he agreed and pulled out his docket. "Tomorrow after breakfast then?"

"That'll work. In the meantime," Alistair said with a grin, "tell the assassin, good job. My compliment will likely make him suspicious. "

Aedan chuckled. "You two are a strange pair of frenemies."

"Goodnight, chancellor."

"And to you, my king."

**~O~**

**AN/ **I slightly struggled with this chapter and it took me a few days to write. Transition chapters often vex me.

Thank You, Everyone who has been reading, reviewing, adding to favorites, follows, or just stopped by for a peek! I admit it; I am giddy with each and every one!

**A huge thanks** goes out to, **mackillian.** She has been a great friend and also a brilliant writer. She offered to beta for me, even with her insanely busy schedule.


	16. Dream Lover

**Chapter Sixteen: Part 1 of 3 - Dream Lover**

After the day she'd had, Alvy was ready for her favorite pillow and a little experiment. One she was unsure would go over well, yet, her desire to try had been too strong.

Feynriel's ongoing correspondence with her over the years had been a blessing and a curse. Alvy often wondered if she did the right thing when helping him overcome his nightmares. What would become of his powers as they grew stronger, and what would become of him being trained by Tevinter magisters? Resigned to her decision, she had accepted it and took full responsibility for her actions, whatever they may end up being.

Curiosity had gotten the better of her due to Feynriel's unique talents. Every mage had an aptitude for particular spells. She had learned a few that never came naturally to her or were even easy to learn, like the sleep spell Merrill had been working on with her. At best, she could make someone drowsy at first, and now, she managed a short nap from time to time.

Feynriel's natural gift was a rare one. The Keeper called him a dreamer. Alvy hadn't a clue what that particular gift was, and after corresponding with Feynriel through letters, he had been sending her written instructions so she'd be able to enter another person's dream. The spell was complicated and had to be done right before falling into dream sleep, as he called it. If the dream walker was in a deep sleep, it was either impossible for the spell to work, or what's worse, the mage could become stuck in the Fade. This was a lesson he had learned firsthand.

Feynriel's words were comforting. He told her she would have no ability to shape the world around her like him, though, in the Fade, her possibilities were endless. Alvy chuckled at her first few attempts while under the spell.

Entering another's dream had been disturbing and delightful all at the same time. Her first successful journey was with Lord Trevor. She had realized just how much of a dog he really was. She often forgot due to his intelligence and ability to tear the throat out of an enemy. His doggy dream was a sunny meadow, while he ran around chasing butterflies and making friends with kittens. Alvy teased him about his sugary dreams and poor Lord Trevor sulked for days. An apology of pork bits were a peace offering that worked brilliantly.

After mastering the ability to enter Lord Trevor's dreams, Alvy moved on to another subject. She had concentrated on her friend Merrill. The elven mage would not be as nearly traumatized with her dream walking. The world of magi was a strange and wonderful place. As she had expected, Merrill took the invasion of her dreams in stride with no small amount of reverence and curiosity. If they had pasties, Merrill would have declared it a party.

It had been over a week since she had seen Alistair. With all her doubt and worry over starting a relationship that she assumed would be doomed before it began, she couldn't help but miss him. His enthusiasm was contagious and she truly wanted to believe him. Having no idea when they would see one another again, this was hopefully a welcomed alternative.

Deep in concentration before she tucked herself into bed, Alvy performed the intricate hand gestures and spoke the words taught to her in perfect cadence. Snuggling down into her covers, she let sleep take her, hoping Alistair would be pleasantly surprised, rather than just surprised. She idly wondered if distance determined how quickly one could find another dreamer. Hopefully it wouldn't take long to find him in one of his dreams.

When sleep finally had taken her, she found herself in the Fade. The hazed air and skewed landscape lacked desirable aesthetics. Alvy closed her eyes and thought of some of her favorite places. When she reopened them, bright green grasses were swaying, _but no wind?_ Well, that was odd. The sky was streaked with blue, purple, orange and red hues, and yet, no clouds to hold their color. _How strange, _she thought.

Alvy had been in the Fade many times, but had never before been able to construct colors and textures; not with her own free will. She was going to write Feynriel and express her gratitude for this spell; she never realized the depth of possibilities it held. Her practice must have been making it more effective.

Finding a grassy knoll, she walked up the incline and sat. The grass felt strange, more like silken stands thatched together. Running her hands through it, it lacked that cool feel it normally would. While sitting, she concentrated on Alistair. Remembering his scent, his eyes, his lopsided smile that made her breath hitch.

A shadow began to form and the harder she thought of him, the more solid the shadow had became. When she could feel a presence, she opened her eyes.

Horror struck! Alistair was in a dank cavern with gore and slime that hung from the stone carved rock. Giant tentacles were flailing about, smacking him to the ground. Her eyes screwed into a squint and saw others running with weapons, and two magi casting spells, one of healing and one defensive.

_Maker! What. Was. That! _A gray mottled creature with rows of teats like a beast had whaled a guttural cry, and the short arms reached and grabbed anyone who got too near.

Alistair was having a nightmare of the Blight.

_No, no, no—_she chanted soundlessly. How could she help him? This was the past, not a current, new dream. Desperate and terrified, she wanted to rush in and help.

Feynriel_'s _words crept into her panicked mind._ And Alvy, no matter what you do, do not interfere in past dreams. People work through their problems in the subconscious. If you interrupt, you can cause damage, to yourself, and to others._

Was she supposed to just sit here and watch while Alistair and whomever else got tossed about? She sighed. Yes, yes that was exactly what she had to do.

Crushing her eyelids together, she shut out the vision of the battle. When the battle sounds of metal and spells penetrated her hearing, she cupped her hands over her ears. This had been too much. She never realized the price her brother had paid for becoming a Grey Warden until this very moment.

Time slipped by, how much, she hadn't a clue. In the Fade, time meant little to nothing. Her senses tingled and she was no longer able to feel Alistair's presence. Resigned, she decided on trying another night.

Just as she had risen from the silken grass, she felt something. Alvy stood quietly and concentrated once again. The shadow started to take form again, and she hoped beyond all hopes this was not another Blight dream.

Once the form took shape, she opened her eyes again. This time, the scene had completely changed. It was Alistair again, but this time he had been sitting on a rampart, dangling his legs over the edge.

_Was this the palace then?_

Alvy had never seen the palace in Denerim. She'd spent her entire life staying away from such attractions. Between her and Bethany, there had been little choice.

Alistair looked peaceful this time. _Was he eating in his dream?_Somehow, it was amusing and adorable. He wore simple clothing; brown linen pants and a cream colored tunic. His feet were bare and his hair tousled. He couldn't have been more handsome as he was at that very moment.

"Alistair," she whispered. "Can you hear me?"

He looked up, over behind his shoulder and then to the other side.

"Behind you," she chuckled.

"Andraste's flaming sword!" he said, and jumped to his feet. "Just my luck. Me in my bare feet, disheveled, while eating a cheese sandwich and you show up. Not at all romantic. I must be terrible with dreams of desire. Unless of course, I desired both at the same time."

She chuckled. "Alistair," she said, trying to capturing his wandering attention. "It is a dream, but I am really here. I came to see you while we both slept."

"Prove it."

"Wait, what, prove it?" She looked down at the stone walkway, confused. How was she to give proof it was her? Looking back up, she asked, "How am I to achieve such a thing? What would it take for you to believe it is truly me?"

"I've no idea. You are the one that showed up in my dream."

"Perhaps you entered mine," she teased.

He stared at her expectantly. Her mind had whirled at breakneck speed trying to come up with the right words so that he would believe she was actually here.

"The last time we had seen each other, you gave me one of your shirts, and I gave you the dark blue ribbon that held my ponytail." He continued to stare quietly. "The ribbon had one end frayed and I burnt the end to stop it from unraveling."

"The Champion of Kirkwall burns the ends of ribbons rather than buying new ones," he said teasingly. "What would the nobles think?"

"That I am better at protecting them," she said, grinning, "then I am at shopping."

"It really is you," he said, looking befuddled. "But how, how were you able to find me? There must be thousands dreaming at once."

She slyly grinned. "Mage thing."

"Mmmm," he hummed. "I like mage things"

"Do you now?"

He nodded, and bent at the knees, wrapping his arms around her waist, and then lifted her up and pressed her against him. Dipping his head, he brought his lips to her ear and whispered. "Very much," he said and nuzzled his lips against her neck.

A soft moan escaped her lips and she tilted her head back, allowing him better access. The sensations in the Fade were wonderfully strange. All emotions felt amplified, although, the physical sensations were off somehow. She could feel his warm breath on her skin, though; her senses were not processing it normally. It was as if she were feeling it in the third person. A participant, yet experiencing it as a spectator.

Alistair roamed over her neck and along the line of her jaw before finding her mouth. She welcomed him fully, leaning into the kiss and parting her lips. Their tongues caressed and twined together and she could feel her body being pulled into his even tighter.

When the kiss broke, she laid her cheek on his. The sound of his voice rolled through her, warm and inviting.

"This is-"

"Weird?" she asked, finishing his thought.

"Weird works, as does strange, spooky," he tilted his head back, looked down into her eyes and grinned. "Spooky in a good way of course."

She kissed his cheek and moved to his ear, and nipped the lobe gently with her teeth, and said sweetly. "Of course."

Alistair turned, bringing Alvy with him, still suspended in his embrace. He sat her down on the rampart wall and stood between her knees. She brought her hands up and circled his waist, looking up into his now more serious expression.

"What is it?" she asked. "That is quite a change in mood."

"No, no, the mood hasn't changed. I'm just concerned," he admitted. "How _did_you manage this?"

She blushed. _Can someone blush in the Fade?_ She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "I—What I mean is…" _Why was this so hard?_Maybe he didn't realize the expanse of a mage's abilities beyond casting spells. "It's a spell," she admitted.

Between Alistair's eyebrows wrinkled as he surveyed to either side of them, he then looked directly into her eyes. "What kind of spell?" he asked, his tone a little harsh and it made her wince.

Hurriedly, she rambled on about how she saved a young man and gave him an alternative to the circle of magi. She glanced up and saw Alistair's face harden. _She was a mage, a free mage. Why did he seem so upset?_Brushing away her new concern, she continued truthfully. She had saved the young man a second time, learning he wielded a rare and unique gift. She had not wanted to see him mentally neutered because the Chantry had no understanding of his talent.

"A dreamer," he said curiously. "I've only studied about them. I've never actually encountered one."

_Why would he? Moreover, why would he have studied them?_"Those are strange things to study," she said. "Being you're neither a mage nor Templar."

"I was only trained to be a Templar, not an actual one."

Her hands loosened from around his waist and fell to her lap. Apprehension and fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. "You—you trained to be…" Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide. What was he playing at? Had he been trying to lull her into a false sense of security? Promises of a future, promises of change, and even more so, she had been falling in love with him. Was it all under some cruel guise?

_Wake up, wake up, oh please just wake up!_The voice in her head was screaming at her. Self-preservation now kicked in and she wanted nothing more than to run.

He must have seen the sheer panic in her eyes, and on her expression. Alistair knelt down on the first tier of the rampart wall, eye level with her and gently took her hands into his. "Look at me," he pleaded and commanded all at the same time. The duality somehow calmed her. "I am not a Templar. Yes, I was trained to be one, and it was not a choice I made, but one that was made for me. If I were not conscripted into the Grey Wardens, I'd have been terribly depressed and running around the city in my small-clothes addled by my lyrium addiction."

She laughed nervously. "That was an interesting image." She looked into his eyes, so earnest and heartfelt. "I'm sorry. I panicked. My entire life up until becoming Champion, I've been taught to keep away from the Templars, the Chantry, and hide who and what I am."

"Alvy," he said seriously. "I've never believed the Chantry, the Circle of Magi, nor the magi themselves, has been a properly working system. I—my beliefs held even more conviction after spending over a year with Solona."

Regarding him, Alvy noticed that faraway look again. "You loved her."

"I did," he admitted. "I still do, in my own way. My heart holds a special place for her, and it always will, I'd imagine."

_Should she be upset by this?_The odd thing was she wasn't angry in the least. That had been a long time ago. To know his love doesn't die easily actually made her care all the more for him.

He gathered her hands together, and held them in only one of his, as his other hand reached upward, cupped her cheek and tilted her head so that she was facing him. "I've only loved once in my life, until now. I never believed there would be a second chance." He swallowed hard and steadied his gaze on her. "I love you."

_Love… _She blinked. Did he just say what she thought he said? "How do you know?" she asked lamely. _Great going Alvy - you idiot._

It was his turned to laugh nervously, and shook his head. "How does anyone know? I just, well, I just do."

"Alistair…"

"Hey," he whined. "What's happening…?"

His voice became distant and his solid form slowly faded.

Alvy opened her eyes in her darkened room. She kicked off her covers in frustration. "Dammit!" she cursed aloud. _You have_ _impeccable timing, Alvy._

She flopped back onto her pillow, and blew out an irritable sigh. _Tonight_, she thought. _I'll try again._

**~O~  
**

**AN/ **This will be a three part sequence totaling three chapters. I promise, the wait on the other two are no far behind. Also, **this story will be going rated M** upon part 3 of the sequence.

**Thank you, All**! The reviews have been humbling and appreciated. Guest: I thank you here as I have no other means to reply personally. Everyone – you're awesome!

Special thanks to the hard working, **lisakodysam. **She is beta'riffic! And, **erynnar, **Thank you for all the support. You rock!


	17. Dream Lover Part Three

**Chapter Seventeen: Part 2 of 4 – Dream Lover**

His room was still dark, save for the muted glow of dawn peering through his window facing the east. Alistair slowly sat up in his bed, swinging his legs around to the edge, and steadied himself. He ran a hand through his hair and over his face in an attempt to clear the miasma from his mind.

He shivered as the memories of his dreams came rushing back. The Blight nightmare, although vivid and memorable, was something he had learned to play out and not let consume him. If they hadn't learned to control it, Grey Wardens would be raving lunatics, the lot of them.

It had been the second unforgettable dream that had him perplexed. He felt good in one way and concerned in another. Had Alvy been playing with forbidden magics? Or was this a forgotten skill; so old, rare, and remembered, not even the Chantry was concerned over it any longer?

He knew, without a doubt, she would never use blood magic. The mere idea sickened her. During the days they were able to spend together, she had confessed the Dalish elf's trek with blood magic and demons. She'd also informed him the elf had ceased practice of the forbidden art when the Dalish Keeper had perished due to poor judgment.

He decided he would have to talk to her if she tried the dream walking again. Not that he wanted to stop her; he wanted to make sure she kept it between the two of them, for no other reason than to keep them both safe from any ill-begotten rumors.

The paradox was, he got to see her and it felt amazing. Not only had he been granted time to spend with her, but he'd also been given the chance to profess his love for her. Does it count if you say it in a dream? He assumed it did since they were both aware. His confession remained unrequited and he hoped it was because their connection had been interrupted.

Once washed and dressed, he made his way to the private dining room, feeling ravenous and ready for breakfast. Aedan walked in just as his meal was served. Alistair pointed to an empty seat. "Join me, Aedan. Unless you've eaten already?"

"I just came down myself," he said. "Did they make enough for you and me?"

Alistair chuckled. "Very funny. Do we have a court jester? Are you vying for a new position?"

"My liege," he said, and dramatically drew his hand up to cover his heart. "You're such a giving king. Alas, my hopes have been dashed, for there is one more hilarious than myself."

"Shut up and sit down," he mock ordered. "Or I'll let Zevran know you're available."

Aedan made a displeased face. "I do not believe he cares whether I am available or not. He doesn't seem concerned over such details."

Alistair's jesting faded and he addressed his chancellor more seriously. "You do need to marry, and soon," he said. He had planned on making Aedan his heir for the throne. The likelihood of him having one of his own at this point would be an act of the Maker himself. He'd been a Grey Warden nearly a decade now, and the probability even back then with the taint in his body, was slight to sire a child. He trusted Aedan and broke the Grey Warden secrets about his impending Calling and the challenge of producing children, back when he decided to make him his heir. "You need heirs."

"Does the Champion know?"

Alistair looked back up from his food, understanding his chancellor's question without him elaborating. "No," he sighed. "Unless we succeed, my telling her is a moot point. Regardless of my growing feelings for her, she is still the best choice for our plans."

"Enchanter of The New Order, and the first mage in history bequeathed a noble tile," Aedan mused. "She would be quite the inspiration for the new reform."

"Agreed," he said. "After meeting her and my time getting to know her, she is the not only the logical choice, as far as I am concerned, she is the only choice. We have much to achieve, my friend."

Aedan pulled out his chair and tossed his linen napkin on top his plate. He walked over to his king and patted his shoulder. "We will, my liege. We have much to do if Ferelden is to continue strengthening."

"That we do," he agreed. Alistair pushed his plate away and stood. "Let's go see an assassin."

The two men left the dining room and onto the next order of business.

Lounging across two chairs he had placed together in the meeting room, Zevran plucked at the dirt beneath his nails with the tip of the dagger he often carried strapped to his belt.

Alistair and Aedan walked into the meeting room, far from the main hubbub of the palace. The nature of this meeting had to remain secret with few in the know.

"Comfortable, I take it?" asked the king.

"Quite so, my dear Alistair," Zevran said lazily. "You know how to show a man such hospitalities!"

Aedan rolled his eyes. "Must you always be so flippant?"

"Chancellor," Zevran crooned. "Some things are much more enjoyable when they are flipped, no?"

Aedan's jaw hung open for a moment. "Forget I asked."

Peering out into the hallway, Alistair nodded to his guards. They were under strict orders that no one comes further down this specific corridor. After closing the door and setting the lock, he turned toward the rogue. "Zevran, how long are you planning on trading repartee for your amusement, before we can get down to business?"

During the Blight, Alistair had found very little to trust in the assassin. Solona had believed the roguish elf possessed some redeeming qualities. She had always been able to find what was inside the heart of a person beyond their outward persona. This was a skill Alistair had been forced to learn, and was still learning.

"Always business with you royal types," Zevran sighed. He then pulled his feet off the second chair, scooting it back into place with the tip of his boot.

Aedan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping down the seat of the now abandoned chair. Pulling it further away from the elf, he sat facing him. "Do you not worry you will find a dagger in your back flirting as you do?"

Zevran shrugged. "Blades or bodies, both have distinct pleasures, yes?" In any event, I walk away exhilarated!" He winked at the chancellor. "Not being able to walk away also bodes many implications."

"I believe—" Alistair said "We aren't here to explore how many people want to stab or shag Zevran..."

"What is this? My dear Alistair! Did you just say the word shag without blushing or stammering? Being king has made you no fun at all."

The king glared at the part-time assassin.

"I must say, my handsome king, your nasty glares have become much more impressive," Zevran appraised.

Shifting his position, the elf became more serious. With all the platitudes now over, he began an account of his time in Kirkwall.

"The lovely Champion of Kirkwall reminds me of yet another deadly goddess," Zevran said, leveling leveled his gaze on the king. "While on my mission, I ran into some unforeseen complications."

"Such as?" asked the king.

Aedan sat quietly, as he often did. He had a knack for absorbing everything, forgetting nothing, and then calculating an end result.

"The Crows, of course." Zevran waved his hand in the air as if shooing off a nuisance. "I must say, they make me feel quite special, pursuing me for so many years. They are terribly flawed. Forfeiting one's life intentionally seems very counterproductive. I, for one, very much like living."

"What does Alvy have to do with the Crows?" Alistair asked irritably.

"Oh-ho. Alvy is it?" Zevran asked. "Might the lovely Champion have an admirer?"

The king raised a single eyebrow at the elf, his patience having waned. "The Crows?"

"_Si_," Zevran agreed. "The Crows came to Kirkwall on a hunting expedition. Their prey would be the delectable elf you see before you, of course. I left clues with a most unusual Dalish clan, not that they aren't all unusual, yes? Much to my surprise and pleasure, the lovely Champion was the one to find me. The Crows posed as Antivan nobles searching for a notorious killer." Zevran leaned in and grinned at Aedan. "Does my being notorious change your mind, my deliciously handsome chancellor?"

Aedan just stared at the elf, incredulous of his constant advances.

"No? Such a pity, that." Turning back to Alistair, he continued. "After the Champion allowed me my freedom, she also came to the Crows' camp. I must say, she is very impressive. All the death and destruction reminded me of our time during the Blight. I nearly shed a tear."

Alistair chuckled. If nothing else, he had to admit the assassin had the providence for staying alive. "Lucky bastard again, I see."

"Lucky bastard, royal bastard, we're all bastards of a feather, my dear friend." Zevran sat back into the chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "Your little Hawke is in danger."

"Finally," Aedan said. "We get to the point of this meeting."

"Yes, well," Zevran said, looking between the two men. "Starting with such news loses its flare without a little misdirection, no?"

"No," the king said with a sharp tone. "Continue. Now."

"As you wish, oh fun-less king." Zevran sighed. "There are two groups involved. One, I believe, does not wish to see the Champion actually hurt, but also have no qualms against using her to gain ground with their plans."

Looking between the two men, their attention now solidly on him, Zevran gestured with his hand towards a box that sat on a table in the corner; the contents within held several rolled up parchments. Aedan stood and retrieved the box, before walking back to Alistair and handing it over.

Alistair finally took a chair for himself, and with the box placed between his hands, he nudged open the lid. Within sat four rolled vellums; two he gave to Aedan, while keeping the others for himself. As one, both men broke the wax seals and began to read.

Zevran went on to explain that the scroll with the plain wax seal had been a flyer he intercepted, adding an offhanded apology for its messenger's untimely demise. Another was his personal notes; those he had jotted down while maintaining the subterfuge during his reconnaissance mission.

The third scroll was one of an alarming nature. Alistair had just broken the seal when Zevran pointed it out. "As you can plainly see, the wax seal is from the Knight-Commander's personal office. Sadly, this particular messenger also met the Maker. Although, I think I may have done the man a favor."

Zevran shivered. There were few things in this world that shook up the rogue, but tranquil mages gave him a deep down creepy feeling. "They say it is a mercy to make one tranquil, no? I fail to see an out of control mage preferring to be mindless, rather than dead."

Alistair looked up from the scroll, ignoring the assassin's admission of dead messengers. "This is authentic?"

"Si, so I am inclined to believe." Zevran repositioned himself, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and folding his hands under his chin. "Has the Champion mentioned her companion, Varric— the dwarf she teamed up with for her expedition into the Deep Roads? An expedition, I might add, that left her a very wealthy woman."

"Yes, I've met him. Why?" asked Alistair. "What does that have to do with anything current? That was several years ago."

"The last scroll your chancellor is holding and has yet to open." Zevran pointed. "I think now is the time he reveal its contents."

**~O~**

Three weeks had passed by since her first dream-walk with Alistair. Together, they had spoken of other dreams they had, kissed, and often just sat in a peaceful silence, learning to be together.

Decidedly, the best part of all their meetings had been the kissing. The talking was good too, but the kissing… The only drawback was waking and wanting more. She giggled to herself. _I wonder if that, no… could we? How would I even propose such a thing?_

She had agreed that no one else need know of their other worldly meetings. She had no plan or desire to share this special time. Alistair's concerns were slightly different, yet, she understood. He also never pushed the love word on her again. She had yet to reply in kind, and he never made her worry over it. She felt as he did, but she wasn't ready to confess a declaration that was still larger than life to her.

Shoving those other thoughts aside, she considered some of their more serious conversations. She had been more than impressed with his mage reforms. She also started to believe he could pull it off. He had a very supportive council of like-minded people.

Solona, her cousin, had changed the minds of many regarding the magi. Her efforts and achievements during the Blight were nothing short of amazing. It seemed the women in the Amell family were always neck deep with fixing what others saw as unfixable. What many didn't understand was that there were always other ways to look at things, from many different perspectives The Amell women were the cause of upheavals and discord. She put that out of her mind and firmly believed she let her conscious guide her without selfishness.

Yes, she wanted for the magi, along with the rest of the world, to live in harmony. Maybe there was a part of her that was trying to do just that.

Wasn't any man or woman, when pushed to desperate limits, also volatile? She knew a mage could seem more fearsome. The fact was, once she ran low on mana, she was useless; whereas, a rogue's or warrior's stamina in battle far exceeded her pool of power with magic. An area effect spell could possibly counter this argument; though, those were also tricky. Without careful strategy, her companions could be harmed if she were to cast carelessly.

"Mistress," Orana said timidly. "Is your breakfast not satisfactory? I could—"

Alvy glanced up at Orana, confused by the question. When she looked down at the plate in front of her, it dawned on her that the fork she held still had egg, cheese, and mushrooms perched on it, while her other hand held bread covered in jam.

"Sorry, Orana," she said. "I am sure it is all wonderful, because it always is. I suppose my mind is elsewhere this morning."

Alvy slid out from her chair and put the fork down onto the plate. She took a bite of the bread and told Orana she would be out for the rest of the morning.

"Mistress! You can't go running about without a good meal!"

Alvy called back from the doorway of the dining room, her mouth still full of bread and jam. "I promise to eat like a bronto for midday meal," she said, hoping to mollify her mothering servant.

As she made her way to Lowtown to meet with Varric, she considered Silvius. His presence was also expected not long after. Her predator-man was now part of their little group. Not that she gave him any choice. If he insisted on following her around, she forced his hand and told him he would at least be of some use. He had yet to tell her who hired him. She was hopeful today would change all that. Varric had his ear to the ground, searching for any clue of who her mystery knight could have been.

Isabela was back from her trip to Ferelden. She had taken on another group of passengers before sailing back to Kirkwall and even farther beyond, down south to Ferelden's next port before returning. When she arrived, she was elated from her time back out on the open sea. Alvy knew the day would come when her friend would leave for good. Though, she didn't doubt they would see each other again; the pirate's love of trouble was beyond measure. Alvy could see it now, her friend stealing the Queen of Antiva, or something similarly ridiculous, in need of her help getting out of yet another sticky-wicket.

Stopping at a few Lowtown market stalls proved fruitless. Lady Elegant bought more of her collected herbs and offered her a new potion— - one Isabela would drool over; adding yet another lethal poison for the rogue's already deadly blades.

As she entered the Hanged Man, Corff, the bartender, immediately called her over to share some gossip. Alvy listened and offered polite nods and made the proper facial expressions when he seemed excited over something particular.

When she turned to make her way up to Varric's suite, Corff whispered low so no one else could hear. "Be careful out there, Hawke. There's a storm brewin' and rumor has it, you're smack-dab in the eye."

Alvy nodded. "Thanks, Corff. It seems to be a popular opinion." She waved at the man and went onto her meeting.

Varric was sitting at the head of his giant table, his breakfast plate to the left of him, and his journal to the front. He'd been writing with fervor. He had ink smears between his fingers and side of his writing hand.

"Writing anything juicy?" she asked. "Or more bollocks about my adventures? Single-handedly slain any dragons - or maybe I gave birth to the Arishok's love child before lopping off his head? "

"Hey, that could totally work," Varric teased. "Can you quote that last bit about the love child again?"

Alvy rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Varric, do people honestly read such tales about me?"

Varric placed his quill on the table and pulled a scone from his plate. He sat back, and before popping it into his mouth, he said. "Hawke, you have no idea how popular these stories have become. I wouldn't be surprised if noblemen didn't keep a secret copy in the privy."

"Ew," she grimaced. "Too far, dwarf."

"Always," he chuckled. "Now, I suppose you're more interested in other business? Are you sure you want to know who could be the benefactor for the added protection?"

Alvy sighed. Varric had a way about him that always made her brace herself. Well, only when she knew it wasn't going to be total shite. "Why is it, whenever you ask me that, I get terribly nervous?"

"I am the bearer of the news, therefore, I'm just covering my arse. You forfeit any rights of anger towards the lovable dwarf."

"Duly warned," she agreed. "Please continue."

Varric sat forward, lacing his fingers together, and then placing them on the table. "I have a riddle for you and stop looking at me like that or I'll go back to writing about your alleged love child."

Alvy snorted and begrudgingly agreed. "Fine. Ask me your riddle, little man."

He shook his head as if he were disappointed. "You can do better than that, Hawke," he said. "Listen closely. What do you get when you take a trained Templar, a Grey Warden, a royal bastard, and mix them all together?"

Swaying under the sudden grip of her anger, Hawke's hand swept out, knocking to the floor the mug that had been perched on the edge of the table. The sudden clatter drew her gaze, and staring down at it, she kicked it across the room, watching as it rolled into the wall. It seemed an appropriate outlet at that very moment.

As though summoned by her outburst, Silvius appeared in the doorway. He shoved the abused mug with the tip of his boot and entered the room soundlessly. His quiet, graceful steps were even more eerie than Isabela or Varric's.

Silvius shot a glance between the dwarf and his charge. "Good news, I take it?"

"You'd better turn the other way, Silvius. She is about to blow," Varric warned.

Silvius stood there eying Hawke impassively.

Alvy slowly rolled her shoulders back and stretched her arms out. She called on the Fade and power rolled off of her. A well-placed Maker's fist planted on her predator was just wrong, but she didn't care. As the power built, she glared at him, and smiled wickedly.

And nothing.

Her spell died before she could fully channel it. Weakened, she staggered into the wall, her vision spinning as she tried to reconnect with her energy. Silvius ran over and gently guided her back to the chair. A tangle of curses spilled forth in a weak voice, but both men could make out the bawdry dialogue.

"You keep an eye on her," said Varric. "I've gotta write this shit down!" Varric chuckled warily after he sat back down. "I think you have some explaining to do there, Slick."

Silvius looked at the dwarf queerly. "Slick?"

"Oh yeah," Varric nodded. "Because you're gonna have to be one slick son-of-a-bitch, to get out of this one."

**~O~**

**AN/** So. The dream-lover sequence grew to 4 parts. Blame my characters, I do.

**Thank you all** for such amazing reviews, add to favs, follows, or even just stopping by. You are all awesome and I thank each and every one of you!

**Part three of dream-lover**, is nearly done. Hopefully you won't have to wait long!


	18. Storm Before the Calm

**Chapter Eighteen: Storm Before the Calm. Part 3 of 4 – Dream Lover**

.

Isabela had finally risen from her late morning slumber and lazily strode into the dwarf's suite. As she entered, she looked down at Hawke, glanced at Varric quizzically, and then her eyes landed on Silvius.

Alvy had pressed her aching forehead onto Varric's large table; the cool surface afforded her a bit of relief. Her entire body felt drained, muscles coiled and bunched up in knots. The worst of it was the mana deprivation, leaving her feeling empty and incomplete like after a huge battle.

Alvy lolled her head to the side to peer up at Isabela. "If you'd be so kind, stab the new guy in his bits for me, pretty please, Isabela?"

Isabela had not taken her eyes off Silvius since she first saw him. She looked back down at Hawke. "Not that I'd mind a good bits stabbing, but… Hawke, he's so pretty. Are you sure we can't keep his bits and other useful parts for a while longer?"

Alvy groaned. "He's not to leave, make sure if it, the both of you," she muttered. "I've been completely mana drained."

Varric stood from his chair, hefted Bianca onto his shoulder, and centered himself in front of the only exit from his room. "I'm not saying I'll fire at you all willy-nilly, but I suggest you make plans to be here a while," Varric said to Silvius. "Bianca has grown quite protective over Hawke."

Silvius casually leaned his hip against the wall, appearing unaffected by the threats to his manly bits or of the dwarf's crossbow. "I was not planning on a departure any time soon." He pointed over to Alvy. "She is my responsibility. One that I do not take lightly."

A soft, strained, and muffled snort came from the face-down Alvy. She'd folded her arms on the table, cradling her head. "Is it your responsibility to mana drain me?"

"You were about to attack me," said Silvius. "Should I have simply allowed you to send me to the ground with that spell?"

Well, that got her attention. Alvy raised her head enough to look up at him. "Do tell, predator-man, how is it you knew what spell I was about to use? Furthermore, how is it that you know how to drain me like a Templar?"

Silvius said nothing. He stood there, all arrogance and calm, which only caused Alvy to be even more infuriated. Isabela, on the other hand, was still staring at the man. He smiled at her and she giggled like a besotted youth.

"Really, Rivani?" Varric asked. "The man mana drains Hawke and all you can do is giggle and gawk at him?"

"I'm not gawking, I'm appreciating," she corrected. "I mean, look at him, how can I not?"

"Hey, Hawke," Varric called to her. "Want me to fire one at Rivani too?

Alvy raised her hand from the table and waved it dismissively. "As if she can help herself—why bother? It won't do any good."

Varric chuckled, highly amused, and Isabela finally tore her eyes away from Silvius to sit down next to Alvy. "Sweetness," she said to Alvy while patting her shoulder, "where did you acquire gorgeous, here?"

"Jump ship, Isabela," Alvy muttered. "Did you not hear what predator-man just did?"

"Of course I heard," Isabela admitted. "Doesn't change the fact that he's seriously yummy. I'm sure he has an explanation, yes?"

All eyes turned on Silvius, waiting for him to speak. He simply shrugged, and his voice was like dark silk and song. "She was about to cast a spell on me, and I suppose I should just stand idly by while her force magic crushes me?"

"First off, Slick," Varric said, "like Hawke already asked, how do you know what type of spell she was casting, and how to counter her like a Templar?"

"That would be first off and secondly," Silvius countered. "I am no Templar, and never was."

"Which leaves us with what?" Alvy asked. Her voice was weakened by the drain on her body. She pulled herself upright and winced; her head still sharply pounded. "Maybe one of my guesses on the coast was not so far off?"

"Uh, Hawke," Varric said. "Maybe you forgot who hired him?"

Closing her eyes, Alvy took in a deep breath. "No, I've not forgotten." Now releasing her breath, she blew out some frustration. "Why for the Maker's sake would Alistair hire someone to be a hidden bodyguard?"

Varric laughed, deep and loud. "As if you really have to ask that question."

The dwarf looked properly abashed when Alvy leveled her gaze onto him. She assumed it was an act, though. _Why indeed_, she wondered.

Did the king think her to be some delicate flower? She'd survived this long battling the elements from every corner in Kirkwall, how could he even consider not talking with her about this? The last weeks they had spent in the Fade, sharing everything from childhood scraped knees and bruises, to current events, not once had he the decency to tell her about predator-man?

"Get her some food and let her rest. It takes a lot of energy for a mage to regain their mana," Silvius said. "Something light or she could fall sick to her stomach after."

"We know this already, Slick," Varric said, his irritation now evident in his tone. "Question is again—how do you know so much about it all? We've been taking care of each other for years, so it remains a mystery, still."

"I'll tell her the truth," Silvius agreed. "But not here, and only to her. What she does with the information from there on, it will be her choice."

Varric ordered a bowl of vegetable soup for Hawke and some spiced apple cider. She slowly spooned the soup into her mouth and sipped on the cider.

Isabela moved back over to where Silvius stood against the wall. She settled her hip onto the wall, mere inches from his. "So," she crooned, "I bet you have some deep dark past and exciting stories to share."

Silvius looked down into the pirate's eyes and smiled. Isabela's breath hitched because the charm rolling off of the man was like a well sharpened weapon.

Alvy spared a sidelong glance at the two of them and noticed how her friend was so drawn to him, worse than she was when teasing Fenris.

Alvy had wondered about Fenris and Isabela. She had a sneaking suspicion the two were having secret rendezvous. Not that it mattered much. Alvy and Fenris had a strained yet respected relationship.

At one time, she thought there was more there, though, the moment fleeting when he stormed off, leaving her dumbstruck. She never considered pursuing anything further with the elf. He needed to work out his own life, and with her being a point of ire for him as a mage, it was more than she was willing to risk.

Finished with her soup, or at least what she could manage to eat, she spared a glance back over at Silvius. He was toying with her friend, but Alvy decided some things are best learned on your own, without your friends interfering.

"Silvius," Alvy said, drawing his attention away from Isabela. "Walk me home, and we'll talk."

Alvy stood and thanked Varric for the nourishment, and slightly swayed as she took her first few steps. Silvius, no matter who he might have been, was always the perfect gentleman with her. He took her by the elbow and let her lean into him. She mentally shrugged. _So what?_ It's not like she wanted to walk through Hightown looking like a lush.

Looking back over her shoulder, she ordered Isabela to stay put. There would be no tolerance of snoopy friends this time. The pirate pouted and faked her indignation of course.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Isabela teased.

Varric shook his head and chuckled. "That means they do nothing?"

"Hush you," the pirate chided. "Or I'll tell Bianca you're cheating on her."

"She knows better, Rivani," said Varric. "I already warned her about you."

Alvy rolled her eyes at the usual inane banter between her friends, and left the tavern with Silvius. The two of them made their way to her estate.

**~O~**

The war-room in the palace was a buzz of activity. Aedan, much to his dismay, teamed up with Zevran. The two had been tasked with, Mission Kirkwall. How his king came up with these ridiculous names was no small source of amusement, Hero of Ferelden, Enchanter of The New Order, and his personal favorite, The Elven Movement. The list had been impressively piling up. _King Alistair Theirin, King of Reform and Lame Titles_. Aedan considered asking the royal scribes to be sure to record it in their modern history ledgers.

Aedan handed Zevran a scroll after fixing the wax seal on it. "Are your people in place?"

"Si, they are positioned between the docks and the Gallows. I have one in particular you may find most interesting, my dear Chancellor."

Aedan raised a single eyebrow at the elf. "What might that be? You're not going rogue with the plans, are you?"

"Tsk," said Zevran. "You think me a fool? I am the one who designed these plans. No, I have a special little delight placed right inside the Gallows. She is a former Templar hunter. Strangely enough, after many hours of adeptly convincing me she was ready for this job," he said and winked luridly, "I found out she was a former Templar. I suppose she feared such confessions."

Allowing the assassin to set up his own cell in Ferelden was possibly the best-kept secret in the country. Zevran only took on contracts that he deemed worthy, albeit from the crown, or private. The Grey Wardens were off limits, all high ranking members of the Chantry, and current monarchs, no matter the country. Alistair had been firm with his restrictions.

Not being a fool or naïve, Aedan agreed with the assassin's cell. Unfortunately, there were times their particular talent was needed. The crown deemed the employ of Zevran's cell as necessary from time to time. The changes the elf made were nothing short of brilliant. No matter what anyone said about the man, he was innovative and cunning.

The men and women in Zevran's employ were not indentured slaves as he had been with the Crows. They were hand selected by him personally and each one of them chose to work for him. The underground, a seedier network in the underbelly of the country, had been the only place one could hear of the organization. Remarkably, Zevran also kept the general riff-raff of criminal elements down to a minimum.

"And what of the fine Grey Wardens?" asked Zevran. "Are they not going against their own rules, of staying neutral?"

Aedan laughed. "I suppose having one from their own ranks now sitting on a throne is quite the coup for them. Although, the facts are, one of their own had gone rogue, and with the rumor of his involvements in Kirkwall, it likely made the decision for them."

"Either way," said Zevran, "we take all we can get, yes?"

"Indeed," Aedan agreed. "King Alistair has forty Fereldan Templars and one hundred soldiers at the ready. We march at sunup in two days."

**~O~**

Saying what an eventful morning she'd had, would be an understatement. With lead-filled legs, she made it back to the estate, only to find the closest chair to sit in and prop her feet up. The mana drain, though slowly rebuilding, still had her exhausted but at least the pain in her head subsided.

She watched as Silvius grabbed a chair from across the room and sat it in front of her. Alvy was thankful he had no plans to stand up against her wall, like he had at The Hanged Man. His calm demeanor made her even more perturbed with him.

Calling for Bodahn, she asked him to please keep any would-be visitors away. There were to be no interruptions what so ever. She did at least allow Orana to bring a tray of refreshments into their little two-person meeting.

Alvy regarded him, how he sat so relaxed and calm, how he had no fear of her. She was unsure whether to be impressed or scared herself. Taking in a slow, deep breath, she started. "Now is as good a time as any. We're alone and no one will disturb us."

"Very well," he said. "I am Tevinter born, but my parents moved around a lot and I hardly remember it. We left when I was only five years of age."

She held up her hand to stop him. "As much as I appreciate the life story of my predator, those are not the questions I am curious about." She breathed a sigh of impatience. "Spill the vitals and maybe we can go back to the life and times of Silvius."

He laughed.

_What in the blazing_ _Maker? What was so damn funny_? She saw why Isabela was so entranced with him. Even his laugh was sexy. _Damn predator!_ "Not amused over here."

"Very well," he agreed, yet his eyes still shone with amusement. "I was a Seeker of Truth, as were my parents before me."

_Take deep breaths, Alvy. One, two, three, breathe, four, five, and six, exhale. Bollocks! _

The spell she had practiced to perfection, her singular telekinetic blast, flew from her hands and hit Silvius dead on. He never felt it coming. His body took flight out of the chair and landed on the floor, rolling into the raised hearth of the fireplace. Sadly, the chair was broken as well.

Alvy stood from her seat and turned to make her way towards the dining room. Her legs were once again wobbly and she was nearly mana drained from casting the spell. "Orana, this bronto is ready for lunch!" she called out loudly. She glanced at the floor behind her and added, "Make it lunch for two, please."

"Once the idiot can get off the floor, anyway," she muttered to herself.

**~O~**

The black blue velvety night sky sparkled. Between the stars, half-moon, and cloudless night, Alistair had opened his balcony doors before settling in for a much anticipated sleep.

Fragmented dreams of Darkspawn passed through quickly. On rare occasions, he swore he could feel Alvy's presence. _Was she watching again?_ Alistair wanted to spare her his torment of all things darkspawn. Sadly, there was no way to avoid it.

When he found himself in a new scene, he was standing in a room best described as a throne room? Maybe this was her creation that placed him here. The ornate fixtures held no familiarity.

As he looked around, Alvy had yet to appear. Alistair's eyes scanned over the room. A simple area below the dais was illuminated by floating candles with oddly colored flames, some blue, red, and a pale green. If she had constructed this, she was quite imaginative.

A familiar feminine voice echoed from behind him. "Try out the throne, my king."

He grinned and decided to play along. Alistair walked up the dais steps to the very posh throne. The fabric appeared to be made of the finest silks and padded with goose down feathers. When he turned to sit, Alvy was standing under the colorfully lit candles. She looked stunning. The reflection from the flames danced over her skin, and shone in her hair.

He sat slowly while watching the delightful sight before him, looked into her eyes, and smiled. "Any particular reason you created such a grand room?"

Slowly, she walked towards the throne. The gentle sway of her hips had him hypnotized. As his gaze roamed over her and back up to see her face, he saw something new in her eyes.

"Do you like the throne, my king?" she asked. "My hope is that you find it comfortable."

Alistair shifted minutely in the silken padded seat, feeling confused. She was sweet, sexy, and somehow, frightening. _Was this a demon, then?_ He waited and watched as she made the final steps and stood in front of him.

She learned in and kissed his cheek. Relaxing slightly, the sensation of her warm lips on his skin assured him it was her. "Very comfortable," he said, and then he looked around the room. When he went back to her eyes, something blazed in the amethyst and silver depths.

Without a single word, she smiled and he froze, not because of fear, but because he was trapped. Silk padded cuffs slammed down and trapped his wrist to the throne's arms. Simultaneously, his ankles were captured in a similar fashion and bound to the legs of the ornate chair.

"Um—I'm all for a little role play, but how effective can I be trapped and bound to this chair?" he asked. "Unless—"

Alvy kissed his lips tenderly and Alistair had to admit, he was a bad, bad man, having no trouble letting her fulfill her fantasy. She rose up to her full height and smiled sweetly. "While I have you where I want you," she said as she winked saucily, "I have a little tale to tell."

"Your wish is my command," he said. His warm disarming voice caused her to shiver, but he noticed her stilling herself and started to circle him. She ran a fingertip along his arm, around and over his shoulders and back down to the other side. Chill bumps formed over his skin and he couldn't help the slight tremor of excitement.

As she continued to gracefully circle the throne, she spoke soft and low. "Was it my wish to have a Seeker of Truth following me around Kirkwall?"

"A Seeker," he said, confused. "Why would the Seeker's—oh." Silvius, former Seeker and now bodyguard for hire, if he deemed the job worthy and for a high price. "Who—"

"Caught him?" she interrupted. "Me, of course. I am unsure which is funnier, the fact you think me so inept, that I need a hidden protector, or that you had the gall to do so behind my back."

Experimentally, Alistair pulled at the cuffs that bound him to the chair. "You know, I am more than willing to discuss this without being restrained."

"I'm sure you are," she said. "This had a flare for the dramatic, don't you think?"

"Perhaps…" He nodded in agreement. "Although, I did have good intentions," he said, still testing the restraints that bound him. "Or is that too hopeful?"

Alvy ran her hand over one of the cuffs holding her prey. "The binding is magical, so unless you can dispel it with bound hands, I suggest you not waste your time."

"Not to state the obvious," he said, and wiggled his fingers. "One of us will wake up at some point, so keeping me bound seems silly." She glared down at him, her eyes locked solidly onto his. "Or maybe not."

"How could you, Alistair? How could you hire this man, a former Seeker, no less?" Her voice raised an octave or ten. Her steady control waned as she questioned him.

Alistair looked down at the manacles again and sighed. "I did it for you, for me, for us—you were in possible danger. I know you are capable and I am well aware your companions are possibly some of the most skilled in Kirkwall, but…" He looked into her eyes, searching for something he could latch onto. "I… couldn't be there for you."

Sitting on the step of the dais, Alvy pressed the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb. She wanted to be so angry, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, she wanted—wanted, what did she want? Turning herself to face Alistair, she sighed deeply and shook her head. "You're impossible," she said, with far less heat in her voice.

"I know," he chuckled. "You're not the first to tell me that, or the second, or—"

"Getting the idea, thanks," she said. She placed her hand on the chair, closed her eyes, and the manacles completely disappeared.

"Nice trick, by the way," he said, and grinned. "Now, can we move past this or do you have more ways to torture me before I am forgiven?"

"You are a terrible man," she chided. "And what was that look of excitement on your face before I confronted you?"

Heat grew from his toes to cheeks. Alistair hadn't felt himself blush so brilliantly for years. His boyish grin broadened, and Alvy began to blush as well. The realization must have dawned on her.

"Oh," she murmured. Her lips created a perfect pouty O shape.

"Come here," he said, and patted his hands on his lap. When she didn't move, he stood, took a step towards her, bent down and slid his arm under her legs and the other cradled her back. He scooped her up and brought her back to the chair. "Such a large, comfortable chair should be used and useful."

"Incorrigible," she muttered and struck his chest with the flat of her hand. The ineffectual hit caused him to chuckle. Alistair picked up her hand and kissed the tips of each finger.

"Perhaps I am, at that," he admitted. "What must I do to earn your forgiveness? Anything. You only have to name it."

The light dancing in her eyes warmed him. He meant what he said; he would do anything for this woman.

"Anything?" she queried.

Reaching up, his fingers wove into her hair and he gently dipped her head so he could kiss her nose, her cheek, and stopped at the little delectable lobe. His warm mouth hovered over her ear. "Yes," he breathed.

She shivered noticeably, and leaned her body against his. Her arms snaked around his neck and she claimed his mouth for her own. The possession of her kiss incited a low groan that rumbled through him and into her.

When their lips parted, Alistair repositioned her, turning her in his lap, now facing him, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He looked down as her hands wandered to the laces on his shirt. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the strings through the eyelets and he watched her hand disappear under the fabric. Fingernails gently grazed over his skin, making his breath hitch. His own hand now smoothed over the span of his chest and caught her hand, holding it in place.

"Alvy," he murmured. "You—you want this, here?"

Her pink petal cheeks glowed under the colored flames. Her lips were pouty and damp from their kissing. When she slipped her tongue over her bottom lip, he was captivated and dipped his head in for another taste. So sweet, so warm, and very much, she was all his.

She broke the kiss this time and her heavy lidded eyes regarded him. "We can, I think," she said. Her blush deepened. "Unless—you don't—"

"Oh, I want too," he said and nodded emphatically. "We've been here a while though, or haven't we?" Unable to help himself, he rambled nervously. "I can never tell for sure."

She sighed and pressed her forehead against his. "We have," she admitted. Looking into his eyes, she her voice became tentative. "Unless you think this," she said, and waved her hands around the room, expressing their created dream world, "is too strange."

"It is strange," he appraised. She looked down between them. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek, slyly looked into her eyes, and gave her a lopsided grin. "But not too strange."

His heart skipped a beat when she smiled so brightly. "Tomorrow?" she asked. Her hands now roamed soothingly down his arms, and took his hands into hers. "Early to bed?" she asked and winked.

"Maker, but you are an amazing woman," he said, his breath hitched. "I feel unworthy to be so lucky to have you in my life."

He kissed her again, slow and sweet. The kiss melted into the waking morning. Alistair woke in his bed and his lips still tingled. He sighed; he hadn't wanted the sensation to fade. Any business would be a distraction today.

_Tonight, _he vowed.

**~O~**

**AN/ Thank you for the amazing reviews, adds to favorites, and follows! You all truly keep me going! I am having a blast and I hope you are too!**

******A huge thanks** goes out to,' **mackillian'. She is beta-riffic! Also, she is a mind blowing author! **

******Next up? Rated M... You have been warned. :D**


	19. Dream Lover 4 of 4

**This Story is Now Rated M**

**Chapter Nineteen: Dream Lover – 4 of 4**

The day had been long, yet productive. Alvy and Silvius called a truce and she had healed his scrapes and bruises from their little chat. Still, the fact he _was_ a Seeker, even in the past tense, made her uneasy.

Silvius was going to take a room at The Hanged Man. Much to her own surprise, Alvy offered her mother's former room as a guest room. It had finally been cleared out and all that she wanted to save had been stored away.

The darkness of night crept over the city and Alvy retired to her room. She spent some time reading more correspondence between her and Feynriel regarding the dream walking. Thus far, all she had learned proved to be enlightening.

Alvy and Feynriel had become good friends over the years. They both shared a kindred spirit, as neither of them had been trained by the Circle, and both showed extraordinary talents.

Spirit healing came naturally to her at a young age. Being a force-mage had been rare. Her father, Malcolm, learned of her force magic by pure chance. She started showing signs of the unusual skill in her late teens. Her father had very little information regarding the spells. Once she relocated to Kirkwall, Varric had found tomes on the black market for her. Each spell flowed through her so easily. After several years, she had taken the basics and practiced refining her favorites.

Feynriel, on the other hand, was even more special. He possessed such a rare ancient gift—shaping the world from within your own dreams. She had only learned a fraction of his abilities.

Alvy had practiced manipulating the scenery in the Fade for weeks now, and she was able to pull Alistair into a dream, rather than track him down in his own. Her ability to shape a scene became more vivid, detailed, and felt less and less like skewed landscapes and odd color palettes. The wind now accompanied swaying foliage. Water rippled, rather than resembling placid glass.

Writing to Feynriel about her new discoveries and abilities while dream walking, interested him greatly. As embarrassed as she was, she also shared with him her idea of spending some intimate time with Alistair. She had to know if it was safe for the two of them to engage in such activities. She felt a little shame, having shared this with Feynriel, before ever talking to Alistair about it. Although, talking about it would've proved pointless if there were dangers involved.

_Dearest Alvy,_

_I can tell you and assure you, by my own experience, there are no repercussions if you engage in such activities._

_Your king must have an open mind to adventure into an unknown such as this. He, not being a mage, impresses me more than you know. Maybe there is hope for us yet, aye?_

_Perchance I'll visit you in a dream soon. I would rather not stumble upon anything—coughs—that could embarrass us all._

_Best wishes and good luck,_  
_Feynriel_

Thinking back on his last letter, Alvy could nearly hear Feynriel's amusement. She chuckled to herself. _Little demon_.

After dousing the candles, Alvy removed her bathrobe and slipped on her favorite sleep shirt, _his shirt, _and tucked herself into bed. The hand gestures and words for the dream spell came easily to her now.

While waiting on Alistair, she was able to see him and keep tabs on his Blight dreams. She knew when it was safe to bring him to her own. Alvy closed her eyes and let the images form in her mind.

The silken grass she had surprisingly become fond of now carpeted the bare Fade floor in dark greens and cool blues.

Trees formed, and circled around the new clearing, covered with sweet blossoms.

A pond started from a single drop of water, and then it grew, expanded, and deepened into the unearthly ground. The crystal clear water warmed and bubbled with effervescence.

Flowing gossamer fabrics hung from a newly raised portcullis over the small pond.

Alvy stepped back to appraise her work. A sly grin formed on her mouth and she closed her eyes once more, adding one last detail.

Alistair's presence was free of the Blight dreams. Alvy concentrated on his form, now able to sense him anywhere as long as he was dreaming.

A familiar warm voice, tinged with amusement, came from the small tree line. "Bubbles."

She turned slowly, her grin widening when she saw him but a few steps away. She nodded in agreement. "I like bubbles."

"I, myself, never had the pleasure of bubbles," he said, his voice low and sultry.

"A king without bubbles," she said sadly, teasing him with a little pout. "How can this be?"

Alistair closed the distance between them, graceful and swift. Alvy squealed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her in the air. "Keep pouting like that and I'll never be able to stop kissing you."

That was her cue. She put on her best possible pouty-lip, and before she could flutter her eyelashes, his mouth claimed hers.

He teased mercilessly, nipped her lower lip and kissed around the edges of her mouth. When she went to pull her head away, a hand slid up her back and into her hair. He pulled her into him and fully deepened the kiss.

Haze and splendor swam in her tantalized mind. How he could hold her up with a single arm, while stroking her hair, passed idly by in her thoughts. Opening her mouth to him, he achingly teased and coaxed her tongue, leading the rhythm with soft strokes and swirls. She wanted more, so much more.

Her hair was freed of its capture and his hand ran down her back, cradling it, while he skillfully brought the other arm down behind her knees, embracing her against his chest, never breaking the kiss. She could feel the descent as he bent his knees and lowered her to the silken grass.

Stretching his legs underneath her, he pulled her into him. A warm hand cupped her cheek and she tilted her head back so that she could see his eyes. So warm, so dark with desire, she could drown in them.

"You created a place of beauty," he murmured breathily. Alistair gazed around with amazement, as he continued to rub her back. "Have you been here long?"

Alvy could barely assimilate answers to his question, with her attention still lost in his sexy, curious eyes. "Not long," she managed.

"Wow," he said. Looking back down at her, he smiled that brilliant smile of his. "I should have you decorate our room."

A little clarity came rushing in. _Our room. _ "Sorry? Our—" She couldn't complete the question.

He pulled her back onto his chest to reposition her between his legs. Dipping his head, he showered feather kisses down the side of her neck while he traced her collarbone with his fingertip. His hand stopped at the laces of her oversized shirt and tugged. "You're wearing my shirt in the Fade?" he asked, chuckling.

She shrugged. "It's what I had on when I went to sleep. Only stands to reason." Alvy tilted her head back and peered up at him. "Stop distracting me. Our room?"

That lopsided grin of his struck her dumb, and she nearly wanted to say to the void with it, and plunder his lips again. Though, his grin became mischievous. "You weren't planning on using me for sex, and not expect a commitment, were you?"

She blinked, and blinked again. "Why do I all of a sudden feel like the villain in a bawdry tavern play, about to cunningly steal a young maiden's virginity?

"Mmmm," he hummed against her ear and she shivered with anticipation. Instead of following through, he continued on with his commitment pursuit. "You, me, a giant palace, our home, together."

The crack of a slap echoed, and Alistair laughed heartily, especially when the sting of her slap affected her, and not her intended target. "What was that for?" he asked, with a mock pout.

She scowled, and shook out the sting in her hand. "Be serious, will you please?" Although, she wasn't really mad. She was confused, which was often worse than her being angry.

Sliding out from behind her, Alistair stood and started to pace. Alvy watched the manic strides for a few moments until she couldn't take it any longer. She rose to her feet, and placed her hand gently on his arm.

He stared down at her, his eyes, once full of passion, now very serious. "I am being serious," he said, almost sternly. "Has it ever occurred to you, that no matter what, I want this?" He pointed to her and then himself. "And whether or not the council votes in our favor, I want you."

Taken aback by his declaration, Alvy walked over towards the bubbling pond of water. Her mind was spinning. _How could such a perfect moment turn into this?_

Warmth and strength pressed against her back, strong arms wrapped her up in an embrace. Hot breath breezed over her ear. "I love you. I told myself I wouldn't push this on you until you were ready to face your own feelings. I will always be king, first and foremost. However," he said, and turned her around to face him, "I wish, I hope—you will be my wife someday."

Consternation took hold of her. Alvy shyly peered up and into his eyes once again, so honest, full of love, and absolutely hers. "I do love you," she said, her voice soft. "Yet, I cannot see any council voting in favor of you marrying a mage."

His lips pressed into her hair, and his arms held her more tightly. "Knowing you love me back," he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead, his voice becoming solemn, "that's all I'll ever need to peruse this. Even if you can't be queen, you can still be my wife, if—if you'd have me as a husband."

So many scenarios played through her mind. _Wife? _She never considered marriage. Her parents had a life on the run, and magi as a general rule, did not marry. _Queen? _No-no-no-no. That was far too inconceivable to even think about. Did she want to be a wife? Admittedly, it had an appeal. A family of her own? Also appealing. Something she never knew she wanted, until possibly now.

Looking back up at him, nervous, sweet, anticipation, and was that—that was pure love. He truly did love her. She could feel his emotion marrow-deep.

On tiptoes, she leaned back up against him, and kissed his cheek. Alvy smiled saucily as she pulled away, the cool breeze teasing her overheated skin. Turning, she swayed her hips just a tad more, her stride long and graceful as she made her way back to the bubbling pond. She could sense his eyes on her, and she stopped. Then she reached up and unclipped her hair, letting her chocolate locks cascade down her back. His breath hitched and a secret smile tugged at her lips.

Looking back over her shoulder at him, she saw him grin that heart-stopping smile. Crooking her finger, she gestured for him to follow.

Standing in front of the little pond, she stopped and turned to him once again. "Stay right here," she instructed. When he gave her a confused gaze, she leaned in, and gave him a sweet, chaste kiss. "Trust me."

"I'll just be standing here then," he agreed. "Impressively manly, and trusting you."

Alvy couldn't help but giggle. His humor was unique, a little awkward and incredibly charming. Where her tongue could be blade sharp, his was sweet, witty, and adorable.

On the other side of the pond, she stood before him, and blew him a kiss. Bending down, she touched the bubbly water with her fingers, the small waves lapped up her wrist. The temperature was perfect; she sat and lowered her bare feet into the pool and frowned. "I forgot steps."

"Create them," he said simply.

A soft snort escaped her. "Why didn't I think of that?" She closed her eyes, and envisioned three tiers of steps starting from the farthest walls of the pool, descending towards the center. She forgot to imagine the depth and was now curious.

Her feet landed on the highest step in the pond and she stood away its edge. She looked over at Alistair and grinned. "Tada!"

His chuckle of amusement was reward enough.

Grasping the edges of her shirt, she slowly pulled the hem up over her thighs and settled the rise at her hips.

After she took another step down, the water lapped just below the hem. She looked up, and he was watching, enraptured. Slowly, she pulled the fabric up a little higher. Her smalls peeked out from under the shirt; she inwardly smiled when she heard an audible swallow coming from the other side.

Stepping down onto the third step, she slowly and teasingly let the fabric glide up and over her body, tossing the shirt back onto the bank of the pond. His eyes were roaming over her form until she caught his gaze. With both hands, she looped a single finger on each side of her smalls and started a slow descent over her hips and down her legs, tossing them atop the discarded shirt.

"Maker," he murmured. "You—you're exquisite."

The blush rushed over her body and landed on her cheeks. Feeling slightly shy didn't detract from the pleasure she felt when he beheld her unadorned form.

Taking the final step into the pool, the water drank her in, now only revealing her from the shoulders up. Dipping down under the water was exhilarating. She shot back up from under the water and her hair was a dark waterfall, straight and glossy on her skin.

After clearing the water from her eyes, she chanced a peek at her observer. Alistair had a wide grin and seemed highly amused.

"Plan on joining me?" she asked. "Or will you be watching perched up there until we wake?"

Wordlessly, he walked to the water's edge and unlaced his linen pants; she watched as the fabric pooled at his feet and he stepped carefully out of them. His soft silk shirt glided effortlessly off and she marveled at his sculpted chest and crisscrossing of scars. Old scars, she noticed, now silvery white and faded. He hesitated briefly when reaching for his smalls. Alvy grinned wickedly and, _poof_, they dissolved.

Looking down at himself, he laughed. "Why didn't you do that with all of my clothing?"

A sly smile broadened on her lips. "Didn't think about it until then," she said. "Besides, the show was worth the wait."

Try as he might to avoid it, he still blushed at her bold statement. With every passing moment, his sex appeal escalated.

She gazed admiringly as he took each step into the water. His body was muscular, but not overly bulky. His toned definition rippled as he moved. A warrior's body, one that has experienced many battles, and one he obviously still trained to this day.

His voice was all warm honey and filled with promise when he asked, "Like what you see?"

She slowly nodded. Her mouth turned dry with all the delightful thoughts that ran through her mind. "You're… beautiful."

His grin turned cheeky. "I'm not ruggedly handsome, or perhaps blindingly gorgeous? Women are beautiful. Men are manly."

She snorted playfully and rolled her eyes. "Men are manly? Alistair, you may need to work on that last bit."

His eyebrow arched quizzically. "Oh really?" he asked. "We'll just see about that, now won't we?"

Alistair dove into the water with preternatural speed. Before she could think, his arms curled around her. Then he tightened his grip and pulled her under the water with him. Limbs and bodies tangled together while suspended under water, which created an interesting sensation.

When they both came up for air, Alvy laughed until her sides hurt. "So not fair! You're stronger than me," she said with a false frown.

"Alright—alright," he said, laughing. "I'll stand her and you can dunk me. I won't even resist." He placed his hands in the air, and submitted to his offer.

She jumped, wrapped her arms around his neck, and captured his mouth with her own. This kiss was wholly new to them both. A fiery passion ensued from their embrace. Tongues explored, teased, and both drank each other in as their bodies gravitated, closing any remaining gaps between them.

Alistair pulled back from the kiss and moved over the line of her jaw and down the column of her neck, stinging her sensitive skin at the nape with small nips of his teeth. From deep within her, she moaned as her head tilted back for him, begging for his mouth to explore further.

Coaxing her body with his hands, she floated prone in the water, supported by his arm. Alistair swayed her gently while small waves washed over her. The sensation from the airy bubbles tickled and tantalized her body. A velvety tongue laved over her skin, so warm compared to the tepid waters. Her back arched reflexively, pressing into his mouth. He must have been reading her body language, because he applied more pressure as he explored and tasted every inch of her.

Uninhibited mewls and gasps escaped as her breath quickened with excitement. Her mind mapped the balmy path his tongue left in its wake. Her skin alight and so stimulated, she wordlessly begged for more.

Her hands were guided to the pond's edge, and he whispered, "Hold on." Maker, she was his, all his, and would deny him nothing. Feeling boneless, she made an effort to grasp the edge of the pool. He swam around in front of her, never breaking contact with her body. His head dipped and his mouth found her navel, swirling, kissing, and teasingly, he would spread out and back again, reapplying the pressure she pleaded for.

Wrapping her legs around his body, she squirmed to get closer. His chest settled over her core while his fascination remained on her stomach. The heat was maddening. She abandoned the pool's edge, her fingers finding new purchase in his hair. The silky locks tickled between her fingers and he growled into her skin. A new sensation fueled the fires of her desire.

His arms reached around her, and he slid his hands down her back to rest them on her rounded hips. She pressed closer into him, and he synced with her movements. His arms tightened slightly, and pulled her in as his mouth traversed down to her delicate folds.

"Maker. Alistair. Please," she cried. Her pleading only encouraged him further as he explored, tasted, and obviously experimented to see what made her whimper for more—and more she got.

His rhythm picked up at a steady pace. Alvy felt as if her bones turned to liquid, not believing she could endure much more. An inferno had been slowly building and concentrated in her center.

She choked and stuttered his name. Her body stiffened as the fires broke through, flooding her mind in a blissful haze. Her nails dug into his scalp and his gravelly groan entered her core, sending her over the precipice. Deeper he probed, drinking all of her until she was languid in his arms.

Alistair held her tightly to him until she recovered, as he softly swirled his fingers up and down her back. Sweet murmurs were whispered into her ear, words of love, assurance, and future.

Experimentally, she stretched her limbs, her strength returned and her breath calmed. His warm breath at her ear elicited a spark; her desire renewed.

"I want you," he whispered. She shivered, and as if commanded, her body immediately responded.

Alistair walked her back as he seated himself, and pulled her onto his lap. His hands glided back down to her rounded hips as she straddled over him, her legs locked around his waist. Her hand slipped between them, as she guided their union. Together they moved in sync, the pace slow and deep.

A symphony of sounds came from deep within her; crying out his name over and over as their dance brought him closer to his own release. She kept her pace, contracting her innermost center with each rock of her hips. Her nails found purchase on his shoulders as she traveled through a new wave of ecstasy.

She felt him completely, full and connected within her, his thrusts more urgent, as he sought deeper into her. His body was unyielding and the words poured out of him like a song to her harmony. They sagged into each other, both exhausted and sated, still tangled together as the waves found their calm.

He looked up at her and smiled. "I really like mage things," he says breathlessly.

She looked down into his hazel-brown eyes and grinned. "Will you dream me up a sandwich?" she asked sweetly, not able to suppress her giggles.

Together they laughed, and together they faded.

~o~

She woke up back in her own room, her own bed, and alone. _Damn,_ she cursed under her breath. _I didn't get my sandwich._

~O~

AN/ The stress chapter. I truly agonize over 'ahem' these types of scenes. I hope you all find it tastefully done. and still sexy.

Thank you all! That R&R, Add to Favorites, Follows, or just stopped by. I appreciate it dearly.

A huge thanksgoes out to,'mackillian'. She is beta-riffic! Also, she is a mind blowing author!

BioWare Owns.

PS: Jaden Anderson. Your fault. Totally.


	20. Family Reunion

**Chapter Twenty: Family Reunion.**

A satisfied smile rounded Alvy's cheeks when she woke from her dream-filled slumber. Her mind replayed the time spent with Alistair. Involuntarily, her body spread out into a feline stretch, and her toes curled. Subtly, a wanting ache she couldn't quite discern settled within.

Refusing to face the day, Alvy curled back under the blankets. Within moments, a knock sounded at her door. She cursed into her pillow and tried to ignore whoever was on the other side. After a second knock, with more force behind it this time, she begrudgingly called out to the disturbance. "Unless someone is dying, heavily bleeding, or on fire, go away!" She heard footsteps walk away from her door, and she sighed, sinking back into her mattress.

Her hopes were quickly dashed.

Heavier footfalls approached the barrier between peace and chaos, and a much more forceful knock on the thick wood echoed throughout her room. "Lady Hawke," she heard clearly from the other side of the door; the all too smooth voice caused her further irritation.

She groaned, sat back up, and flung the heavy duvet off to the side. "Feeling brave this morning, predator-man?"

Adding to her annoyance, the former Seeker rapped his knuckles three more times for good measure.

"I'll be down shortly. Kindly, leave," she demanded, and then added for emphasis, "Now!"

Planning for a lazy day, Alvy washed up, dressed casually, and made her way down to the kitchen. Her stomach had grumbled as soon as she woke. It had appeared that breakfast was long over, though Orana left sweet bread, fruit, and ham under a covered plate for her. Pulling apart a sweet roll, she placed a slice of ham between the now open-faced bread and smiled. _It's about time I got my sandwich. _Her dream lingered ever constant in her mind.

Silvius strode in and pulled up a chair at the small kitchen table, sitting directly across from her. "We have a problem," he said flatly. "A missive came early this morning from the First Enchanter. Templar Recruit Keran is missing and has not been seen since you encountered him in the warehouse."

Alvy sadly looked down at her sandwich. One day, just one damn day, she would've cherished getting through a meal, a night of sleep, or even time in the privy, without anyone needing her attention.

She took another bite, set the sandwich down on her plate, and looked over at her predator-man. "Could this not wait until I've at least eaten?"

Silvius glared at her. "It's no wonder you need protection. You are far too complacent," he chided. His hands came up from his lap and folded together on the table. "I believe you are being set up. All of this," he said, and leveled his gaze on her, "is far too coincidental. Why would they come directly to you? Why would the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter come to you directly, when all of their problems should be handled internally?"

Alvy shrugged. "I wondered that myself, and believe I have come up with a plausible answer."

"Which is?" he asked.

She sighed, and looked back down at her plate, wishing for five more minutes of peace.

Silvius slid the chair back and stood. "I'll leave you to your breakfast. Will you meet me in the library after?"

She nodded her agreement and proceeded to finish her breakfast, grateful the man could take a hint.

**~o~**

"Aveline…" Varric said, trying to get through to the guard-captain. "Why not have this investigated, rather than Hawke sticking her neck out, once again?"

Aveline walked into her office, Varric nipping at her heels. She leaned back onto the corner of her desk and asked the dwarf, "And just where did you get your bit of information? How am I to log a report to justify the city's expense and manpower?"

Varric smirked. "Standing around Hightown in shadowed corners while we clean up the shadier elements in the city, is not what I'd call man-power," he said, exasperated with Aveline's unwillingness to put her guards to work. "You once asked me, did I do anything? As guard-captain, I think I should be asking you that question."

The look on Aveline's incredulous face infuriated him even more. It took a lot for the dwarf to get angry, and a lot more for him to lash out as he did. Aveline had been sitting on her thumbs for a better part of the last few years, while Hawke and her crew had been cleaning up the riffraff in Kirkwall.

"You know what? Never mind. I've got this," Varric said, and turned about face, leaving Aveline sitting on her desk, drop jawed.

Upon reaching the iron doors of the keep, Varric noticed he was being tailed. He decided to continue out the doors to see if his tracker was merely curious, or if this person was going to continue the cat and mouse. Sure enough, as he approached the last set of pillars in the courtyard, out of his peripheral vision, he saw the door barely ajar and a figure melt into the shadows.

Down the steps, around the corner, and into the Blooming Rose, Varric paused, seeing Viveka straight ahead. They had an ongoing routine of sorts. Viveka nodded towards the private rooms to the right of her, and Varric slipped in quietly, waiting for his golden moment.

**~o~**

The acrid odor in the sewers no longer assaulted his senses. Either he was getting used to the smell, or his nose was now permanently damaged from the sting he was once familiar with down in the underbelly. Even lower than Darktown, few ventured here unless they were beyond desperate, or needed somewhere to hide; no one else would dare go.

He'd never felt so alone, so abandoned by those he considered friends. He knew deep down he did not return their friendship in earnest. He'd given half-truths and told lies every day he'd spent with them.

Hawke was right when she cut him from her life. She was a fellow apostate, and he had also been jealous of her. She always felt free, at least from his perspective. Although he was not confined in a circle any longer, he never felt more caged than he did now. There would be no freedom for the likes of him, but there would be for future generations. He would lead the way, cutting into the swath of finely crafted material the chantry believed kept them secure.

Hiring mercenaries had not been easy, and had been expensive. Sadly, they were a means to an end. He tried to talk Hawke into coming on his expedition with him, in search of ingredients for a potion that was just another lie to add to the pile. He should feel remorse for the lives he ended after his hunt was over. They were loose ends, and victims of his circumstance. No—he could not feel sorrow for them. Their lives were sacrificed for the greater good.

Only one more place to visit and his plans would be set in stone. After that, it was time to make peace for what was to come.

**~o~**

Perfectly situated, Varric and Bianca were lying in wait. The little shadow apparently had no patience for him to leave the Rose, and followed him. The door to the private dining room barely opened and a small figure moved in, sliding back against the wall. A single click and Bianca was poised at the back of his pursuer.

"I'd be very still if I were you. Bianca is feeling a bit twitchy," Varric advised. He noticed the lithe figure, slightly rounded hips, and tucked in waist.

His tracker was female.

Gently, he jabbed Bianca into the woman's back and instructed her to move to one of the chairs against the wall. He wanted to minimize possible escape routes or tactical maneuvers. She slowly sat in the chair, and the dwarf tied her wrist down to the arms of the chair. She must have dimwittedly assumed he wasn't prepared for it, and when she kicked up her foot to push him back, be chuckled. Then he grabbed it and turned the chair on its side, along with her in it. He was now forced to tie her legs to the chair.

Amused, he took a seat on the floor and cocked his head to the side so she could see him straight on. "So, what brings you here to the Blooming Rose? And in case you were wondering, though I am flattered, but I'm not on the menu."

The woman sighed. "Can you at least set me upright?" she asked. "Not only is this awkward, it is painful."

He sniggered. "Since you asked nicely." Varric stood, pulled the woman and chair into an upright position, facing him. "There. Now, how about a reveal?" he asked, and reached for her hood. "May I?"

The woman's head snapped up and around her eyes wrinkled, showing amusement. "You're asking for permission? As if I have any say in the matter?"

He shrugged. "A dwarf with manners, it's a mystery for scholars, to be sure. Now, may I?" he asked again.

Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded her consent.

When Varric gently pulled off the masked hood, what he saw was not what he was expecting. This woman was a girl. She could be no more than in her mid-teens, and he was unsure what to do next. He scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a second good look at the girl. "Tell me. What is a kid doing running around the city, slinking into the shadows, to follow little ole me?"

Her young tanned face went from curious to a deep scowl. "I'm not a kid, I'm—I'm a woman," she said, attempting confidence.

"And I'm a nug wrangler. Try again, little one," he said and lowered his voice. "Who are you, why are you following me, and who sent you?"

"No—no one sent me," she claimed. Her voiced wavered, but Varric knew it was nerves, not lies. "I'm trying to get to my brother, but he eludes me every time I get near." Tears came rolling down the girl's cheeks.

Varric, the softy he was, had to ask. "Who's your brother? Maybe I can help."

She hiccupped through her tears—her voice cracked, but her answer was undeniable. "Silvius. He left me at the chantry when our parents were killed," she muttered. "I won't go back. I refuse!"

"Well, shit," Varric said, and then untied the girl. "Come on. We have a family reunion to go to."

**~O~**

**AN/ Thank you all who have R&R'd. Also, I do apologize for the long wait on this chapter. Sadly, it was out of my control because I fell ill for a while. You are all so amazingly awesome, and your comments are better than chocolate!**

**Thanks goes out to my ridiculously fabulous beta, mackillian. She has two fantastic stories, 30 Dragon, and In Peace We Lie. A must read!**


	21. Confessions

**Chapter Twenty One: Confessions.**

Already, the day had felt long, and she had barely gotten past breakfast. Silvius was waiting in the library, and as a friendly gesture, Alvy carried in a tea service for the both of them. Her behavior towards him that morning was uncalled for. He was charged with protecting her, and that is what he was doing. She was still not thrilled with having someone hired to protect her, yet the damned adorable king had softened her to the idea of it.

He stood when she entered the room, which only incited a giggle from her. "Stop with the formalities, would you? We live in the same house for the time being, and you see me with pillow hair in the morning. How formal is that?"

Silvius took the tea service from her and set it down on the table. After he sat back down, one corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile. She could see why Isabela was so besotted by the man, though he was far too intense for her.

This only brought her mind back to Alistair. He had a carefree humor and awkward endearment; all the qualities she never expected to be drawn into. The more she got to spend time with him; she discovered he was so much more. Strong, sensitive, but not overmuch, and his presence alone was powerful without conceit.

"Ahem," Silvius said, and pulled her back to the present. "Is something on your mind, other than the fact your life, and the lives of your companions, are likely in danger?"

She snorted. "When are our lives _not_ in danger?" Her own question brought her up short. It was true; when were they not in danger? Even on the calmest of days, it seemed as if something was brewing behind the scenes, waiting to come forward and wreak havoc in their lives.

"I would advise," he began to say, and then a ruckus in the foyer drew his attention, and he and Alvy both shot up from their chairs to investigate.

Lord Trevor bounced from the foyer to the main room and back again, excitedly greeting whoever entered the estate.

Bodahn came through the entryway and announced Varric's arrival.

Varric stood in place and scowled at Silvius. "I have a gift for you, Seeker."

Silvius rolled his eyes. "Former Seeker."

"Whatever, Slick," Varric said, and looked over at Alvy. "Got another room available, Hawke?"

Confused, she glanced between the two men, Silvius seemingly curious, and Varric agitated. That was odd, to be sure. "Varric, why do I need a spare room?"

The dwarf took the last few steps that brought him into the main room and directly in front of Silvius. "Missing anything, Slick? Like, oh, maybe a kid sister?"

White knuckles formed on Silvius' tightly closed fists. It had been the first time Alvy witnessed the man without perfect control and appeared to be quickly losing his cool demeanor, as evidenced by his clenching teeth. "Where?" he asked, seething angrily.

Neither man moved from their position. Alvy looked into the foyer and saw nothing from her view. She walked over and peered through the doorway and then saw a young girl sitting on the bench. The girl looked as if she were about to bolt for the door. Alvy was stunned. The blue back hair, piercing gray eyes, and sun kissed skin—she was a tiny female version of Silvius.

Sliding himself between Alvy and the doorway, Silvius walked over to the young girl sitting on the bench and held out his hand. Tears visibly streamed down her cheeks as she raised her head to gaze at her brother. She jumped up and wrapped her thin arms around his waist. The girl's cries were hysterical. Alvy grimaced as she watched her small body hitch and convulse.

Pulling herself away from the scene, she reentered the main room to speak with Varric. "So, he has a sister. And they say I bring home strays," Alvy teased. Though, the worry in her voices was evident. "How did you find her? Did you know he had family searching for him?"

Varric pulled a flask from an inside pocket of his coat, twisted off the cap, and took a lung pull. Then he replaced the cap and slipped it back into his pocket. "She found me," he simply stated. "She started following me, in hopes of getting to him. It would seem his evasion skills far outperform my own."

Alvy could've sworn Varric was disturbed that the girl managed to tail him, as if his own prowess had been questioned. She patted his shoulder for reassurance. "She's small, and who would have guessed Silvius had a little wayward sister skulking about?"

"Not the point, Hawke," Varric said. "Still, why would a man leave his kid sister in the hands of the Chantry? He has to be at least a decade older than her."

"A decade and a half," Silvius corrected as he entered the main room, sister in tow. "She was two years old when our parents died." He called back into the foyer and beckoned the girl to follow. "This is Cyrene. Cyrene, this is Lady Hawke, mistress of the estate."

"What am I, nug livers?" Varric asked. With a flourish and a gentle bow, the dwarf greeted the young women formally. "Varric, Varric Tethras, at your service."

Cyrene stared at the dwarf, seeming unsure how to take his now friendly greeting. Alvy immediately wondered what exactly happened between the two before bringing her here. She looked over at Varric questioningly, yet only offered a casual shrug as an answer.

"All right," Alvy said, demanding their attention. "Seems some explanation is in order, yes? Someone? Anyone? I'm all ears." When no one spoke up, she sighed in frustration. "Nothing?" she asked pointedly.

As if secretly summoned, Orana appeared in the room. Alvy instructed her to take the girl to get cleaned up and give her something to eat.

As the two young women left the room, she turned back to Silvius, who was still stoically silent. "You are going to have to tell me something. I'm certainly not going to evict the child from my home. You, on the other hand, are balancing precariously between a warm comfortable bed and bunking on a flea infested cot, courtesy of the Hanged Man."

Leaving her predator-man rooted in place, Alvy turned to Bodahn. "Will you go to the workshop district and see about a bed, a nightstand, and at least one armoire?" The one empty room she had left, was exactly that, empty.

Shifting her gaze back to Silvius, she smirked. "Predator-man, you can sleep on the couch until we can furnish the room. Until then, your sister will be sleeping in yours."

**~o~**

"What's left on the check list?" asked the king. Alistair had been dreadfully nervous, hoping Alvy had kept neutral between the unrest in Kirkwall. Deep down, he knew better. She was damned determined to help where she felt she was best needed, regardless of the repercussions.

After adding the last few final checkpoints they would be traveling through before they reached the Free Marches, Aedan looked up from the rolled out map on the war-room table. "We have the medical supplies and food to be stocked into the wagons. Both will be done before we leave in the morning."

Alistair nodded. "Has there been word from the First Warden's second in command?"

"She'll be on time. They are already camped in a hidden cove on the Wounded Coast. We received a note by pigeon carrier during the night," Aedan assured. Concern etched his features. "Does she know, my liege?"

Alistair stopped his pacing and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "No—I planned on telling her. To let her know we're coming, but…" he trailed, his sure voice now wavering. "I really should have explained all of this to her before leaving Kirkwall." He looked to his new Chancellor. "I actually should've, huh?"

"It's not my place to—" he started to say.

Alistair huffed indigently. "Of course it's your place. You know. To keep me from doing stupid things, though, you weren't there. I suppose I have Teagan to blame," he muttered and sighed. "I've only myself to blame. I really dislike when that happens."

A deep chuckle brought the king's attention forward. Aedan shook his head. "I believe you just had a complete conversation with yourself."

"Growing up a royal unwanted bastard, you learn to keep your own company," said the king. Although his tone had been light, he could feel the ghost of loneliness he once felt growing up. "Ha, look at me now. Sitting exactly where I was told I'd never be."

"You should have grown up with me and Fergus. How Maric ever thought Eamon could be an impartial care-giver is beyond me," Aedan said solemnly. "Besides that, Fergus is ten years my senior. When he was chasing girls, I was digging for worms. It would have been nice to have a brother near my own age."

"A lot of things could have been nicer," Alistair said honestly. "It doesn't matter now. I've learned this and a whole lot more since those days."

"True enough," Aedan agreed.

"I'm going to the training yard; cutting down defenseless straw and wood enemies helps me think. I'll see you for dinner?" the king asked. Aedan nodded. "Good. See you then."

Out in the training yard, several guards had been sparring. He watched, mostly distracted with his own thoughts.

The letters Zevran had brought back from Kirkwall were still freshly disturbing. Knight-Commander Meredith had commissioned a sword to be made, enchanting it with prime evil raw lyrium. Not just the lyrium, which would had been bad enough, but a magical idol, possibly several millennia old. It had driven the dwarf, Varric's brother, to irredeemable insanity. With the unrest in Kirkwall, and rumors of a very worrying kind, there had been no question: Meredith was out of control and exceptionally dangerous.

Logically, this did not excuse her actions. With all intents and purpose, she had sought out to purchase this idol and had it crafted into a weapon. All good reasoning told him she was already going mad prior to the sword being in her possession.

What was worse, the tranquil mage that enchanted the sword had been found dead below the Gallows by Zevran's crew. They'd never have guessed he had been the one, if not for the red lyrium burns imbedded into his skin.

And then there had been the arrest decree. No date yet issued on the parchment, though it had been carefully written out in detail.

_By the order of the Chantry and Knight-Commander Meredith, servant of Her Holiness the Divine, do hereby decree Alvy Jacqueline Hawke: co-conspirator of the mage underground, apostate, and maleficar. She is to be apprehended by any means necessary. _

_Sentence: The Rite of Tranquility. _

Alistair shivered. Between Aedan, Zevran, and himself, they deduced that Meredith was waiting for the perfect moment to spring her trap waiting for Alvy.

With the stress mounting, Alistair strode around the practice barrier and pulled a dull sword from the rack. There would be much straw and wood turned to splinter.

**~o~**

Silvius sat quietly in the kitchen. His long fingers rolled the now cold cup of tea from hand to hand, silently waiting for Hawke. He knew without a doubt she would seek him out once she'd secured all the details of securing the guest room for his sister.

_His sister_. Since her thirteenth name-day, she had been escaping the chantry orphanage in search of him. Until now, the man he'd hired to keep a watchful eye had done well to keep her safe, always alerting the sisters of her hiding places.

Despite all of the sovereigns he sent to the Revered Mother, she was tiring of Cyrene's antics and threatened more than once to ship her off elsewhere. He knew she would never do such a thing, at least not until he orchestrated his own death.

He had set up through a merchant, an annual sum pending her eighteenth name-day. Until that time, he saved all he was able so she would have means to start her adult life. Best laid plans, he thought mockingly to himself. Now she was here residing in the home of one of the most placed-in-danger people he knew.

Unmistakable footfalls increased audibly down the hall, no doubt coming to see him. She would want a full explanation. Why had Cyrene come looking for him? That question also lingered in his mind. The Revered Mother should have told her of his death, and that would be the end of her pursuit.

In the time that he had gotten to know Alvy Hawke, he knew a volley of questions were about to lay siege. Silvius set the cup back on the table and folded his hands, prepared for whatever came next, because she was already standing in the doorway with that scrutinizing glare of hers.

"I suppose this is when you say, 'we need to talk?'" he asked calmly.

She nodded and took a seat opposite of him at the table.

Before she could ask, or he could offer any explanation, Orana came into the kitchen, whirled around until she gathered a few items, setting down more tea, fresh cups, and small cakes on the table. It seemed even confessions called for proper treats.

Silvius poured tea for the both of them and settled back into his chair. "Before you even ask, let me clear up a few obvious questions first."

"All right," she agreed. "I may have a few you didn't think of, but please continue."

"I'll begin with their deaths, and if you wish to know how they became Seekers, I will tell you that as well," he said. The tale was now old in his memories, though none the easier. Their deaths had led him to all the choices he'd made for Cyrene.

Taking another sip of tea to moisten his mouth, he began the retelling. "Our parents were murdered when I was seventeen years old, no longer a boy, but not yet a man. My sister was merely a babe of two years. They had not planned for her birth, but the Maker saw fit to give Cyrene a place in our small family."

"They were both Seekers?" Alvy asked.

He nodded. "They were both orphans in Tevinter. My mother, like myself and apparently my sister, had a natural affinity for stealth. My father, as my mother liked to tease, was born with clenched fists, and likely entered this world swinging them. His hand-to-hand combat skills were unparalleled, even by most of his instructors when recruited by the Chantry."

"Why would the Chantry recruit in Tevinter?" she asked.

Silvius raised a single perfectly sculpted masculine brow. "Are you going to allow me to tell the story?"

"Fine, fine," she said, waving her hand in the air for him to continue.

"Tevinter is unlike the rest of Thedas, as I am sure you are aware, save for the Qunari. It was common for magisters to 'acquire' slaves. Human and elf alike were taken from the orphanages to become property of the magisters. Who would miss a parentless child with no familial ties? And before you ask," he chided, seeing the light in her eyes, always needing to know, "the religious sector in Tevinter has blinders when it comes to the magisters, especially ones offering bountiful tithes.

"My parents grew up together. They were close friends as children, and more, as they became young adults. My father was sixteen, and my mother, fifteen. The orphanage sat in a remote area, the closest homestead being a day's journey. It was rare that a magister would venture to such backwater dwellings. My parents recall a single time when they were very young, too young to be valuable as slaves. They were lucky still to be so young and dependent."

He watched Alvy's eyes—her strange amethyst color reflected light with impatient curiosity. Taking in a deep breath, he continued. "Just before my father was old enough to be released and make his way in the world as an adult, he'd been making plans to marry my mother and take her with him. Those plans were waylaid by a magister who chose to peruse the outskirts, in search of fresh slaves.

"My mother had been the one to hear the magister quibbling over an acceptable tithe. She sought out my father, and together they ran. Begging, working for food, while traveling by day and hiding by night.

"After weeks of running, they met a traveling merchant who employed them to travel with him, loading stock, packaging his wares for deliveries and such. He kept them well fed, gave them clean places to sleep, and safe. As safe as a traveling merchant can be. The merchant had a delivery to make in Orlias. A small chantry just outside the city had a large order for silks. The sisters in that particular parish had talent for creating fine tapestries. They offered the merchant and my parents a place to rest and food. That is where it all began.

"The Revered Mother noticed my parents sparring. They were quite the team, employing their different skills to complement one another. She offered them a permanent home and even hired a trainer for each of them, obviously seeing their value in the long term. They were even married in that chantry.

"The Divine, along with an army-like entourage, made their annual parade to all the small chantries in Orlais. What my parents hadn't known, is they were to perform for the Seekers. After the visit, and with few prospects, they accepted an offer to be trained as one of the elite.

"We spent many years moving from city to city, country to country, at the whim of a higher power. When I was twelve, they took an assignment in Tevinter. To this day, I have no idea why they were willing to go back. They were part of an underground network, and only answered to the Divine's right hand. I only found out later after I became a Seeker, what that particular assignment entailed. My parents were assassins for the Divine, tasked with removing certain magisters considered dangerous beyond their own borders. That is when they were killed, publically dragged by rope through the streets, and hanged in the city square as an example to all those who oppose them"

"So, you weren't born in Tevinter, like you claimed," she said without condemnation.

"I lied. Although, I am technically Tevinter, I suppose. As far as they knew, that is where they were from. I did live there five years until their death. That part was truth."

He watched as she fidgeted in her seat. "Ask," he stated, amused.

She grinned. He had to admit, most of the time he liked Hawke. When she grinned like that, she reminded him of a child who just got sweets before supper.

"How did you escape Tevinter and with your baby sister?" she asked. "I can't imagine it easy to escape with a toddler in tow."

Reaching again for his teacup, he rolled it in his hands, needing something for focus. That had been the hardest time in his life. The escape, a toddler on his back, tied to him with a blanket, and very little in the way of coin or provisions to travel.

"It wasn't," he said quietly. "Easy, that is. She was so tiny, and although I helped my parents by keeping her amused at times, I had no idea how to care for her. I had no means of income. I could have taken up as a mercenary. My skills with bow and blade were already above most adults. My mother trained me as soon as she realized I had taken after her. What do you do with a toddler when out working as a mercenary?" he asked rhetorically. "After spending two months getting back to Orlais, I found the chantry where my parents first started out. They happily took us in. The new Revered Mother, who had been a young sister when my parents were there, asked if I was as skilled as they. And that is how my own story as a Seeker began."

He waited.

She said nothing, her features impassive, and her eyes unblinking. Orana came whipping by, and the breeze from her brisk walk seemed to alert Hawke. Her head dropped and her shoulders slumped forward. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I was in an all fire up, righteous mood when I came to speak with you. Thank you for telling me and helping me understand." She looked up and continued. "I would do nearly anything to have my lost family back. I watched both my sister and mother die in front of me. Don't lose time with her, Silvius. It's more precious than you know."

"Does this mean I don't have to sleep on the couch?" he teased.

"No," she replied dryly. "Extra pillows and blankets are in the servants' hallway cabinet."

Silvius just stared after her as she haughtily walked out of the kitchen.

**~O~**

**AN/ All who have reviewed, added this story to the coveted favorites, follows and guest, you are all so amazingly awesome, and your comments are better than Ice Cream with cherries! **

**Thanks goes out to my ridiculously fabulous beta, mackillian. She has two fantastic stories, 30 Dragon, and In Peace We Lie. A must read!**


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